


if the world was ending (you'd come over, right?)

by coykoi



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: A Little Oblivious, F/M, PeterMJ - Freeform, Pining, Slow Burn, Spideychelle, Zombies, apocolypse, not sorry, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-12-17 08:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21051080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: When the world is basically ending, keep your loved ones close.Unless they’ve been bitten.Then keep them far away.Very far.





	1. if the world was ending

**Author's Note:**

> this isn’t my first fic but it’s the first one I’ve decided to post :) let me know your thoughts, they’re appreciated

Michelle Jones prides herself on always being prepared. She’s got agendas, she’s got planners, she’s got lists for the times she feels extremely obsessive on making sure everything’s written down. She remembers the contemplation of cursing herself out on the day she becomes unprepared.

Well, today just so happens to be that day, and seriously, _fuck everything_. Fuck the agendas and the planners and the lists, because she wasted all of that time preparing for things that she won’t even get to experience now. Not when this is what the world has become, not when Michelle’s positive she’s about to die if she can’t get her shit together.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mom,” she chokes out, her shoulders heaving with sobs as her arm comes down with a frying pan, smacking off her mother’s—or what used to be her mother’s—head off. It’s gruesome, and blood splatters everywhere, staining the carpet and the previously pristine walls. Her body staggers to the ground, one hand reaching out limply before falling like the corpse it is. Dead. Unmoving.

Waking up to find her sole caretaker—_her mom_—staggering around the kitchen, already fallen victim to the virus outbreak, originating from the one and only Stark Industries, was heart-wrenching. Sure, they’ve had a rocky relationship, but no family is smooth-sailing all day, every day. The most important thing is that Michelle loved her, and she’s gone. 

It’s all Stark Industries fault, she thinks. That’s where the virus originated from—probably in one of their creepy basements where super-villains sneak into so they can create a recipe for utter disaster. From what Michelle saw on the news feed passing across her phone, the first horde of what could easily be categorized as zombies stumbled across the blazing streets of Queens. And if you happen to get bit, you’re toast and someone might as well shoot you right then and there. It goes along the lines of any apocalypse movie she’s seen...ever.

Except, Michelle never expected this to become her reality, which is the exact reason she’s overwhelmingly unprepared. There are no real weapons in her house, nothing she can use to fight off the corpses banging on her front door. It’s deadbolted, but that won’t be able to hold them forever.

She hears a pounding coming from upstairs and thinks that if there are zombies that can fly, she’s really fucked. Still, it should be investigated with her frying pan in hand, quietly and cautiously.

Michelle tip-toes up the stairs, inching ever closer to the sound, which sounds less like pounding and more like knocking. It’s coming from her bedroom—her window, more specifically. That’s a relief in and of itself, because if it’s not a flying zombie, it’s something else. _Someone else_.

Her fingers shakily unlock the window and fumble to get it open. There, hanging upside-down from a single web, is her best friend.

“MJ?” Peter’s voice is soft and crackly, crashing into her head and heart. An involuntary sob comes up, and Michelle immediately covers her mouth. She notices the tear streaks across his cheeks as well, meaning that he understands. 

“My mom,” she whispers forlornly, wiping her eyes with fervor. “Had to get her with this.” She numbly lifts the pan so that Peter can stare at it in all its bloody glory.

He doesn’t say anything in return, knowing full well that there’s nothing that can make this better. Instead, Peter slips inside her window and catches Michelle in a tight embrace. She doesn’t break in his arms, even though that’s what her body’s begging to do.

“Even as Spider-Man, I couldn’t save everyone. Now, I can’t save _anyone_,” he mumbles hoarsely, sounding on the verge of tears.

“That’s what happens when super-villains get their hands on disease,” she replies weakly. “But who am I supposed to blame for ruining life as we know it? All I know is that it originated from Stark Industries.”

“If Tony were here right now, he’d know what to do. He could fix this,” Peter whispers, and Michelle can feel his emotions. It’s been years, and having to accept that Iron Man is dead hits hard, especially now. Especially when the world he worked so hard to save is turning on itself. “Happy called me. Said someone managed to breach security and slip into the labs. I tried to get there fast but the line cut. By the time I arrived, I saw...god, I can’t…” Peter wipes his face with his sleeve and shakes his head. “It was awful.”

“It’s spreading fast. I don’t know how my mom got it, but that only made me wonder how—how many more people that I care about are now slaves to whatever brain-melting virus this is.”

“May was at work when the outbreak started, and I—I can’t get ahold of her. Ned texted me about the zombies, said he was safe with his family and Betty’s with him. But Gwen—” His voice breaks, and Michelle feels her heart constrict as his eyes well up. She was never the biggest fan of Peter’s newfound relationship, but it made him happy. She likes seeing her best friend happy. “I should’ve been there.”

“You’re not omnipresent, Peter. Don’t even go that route,” Michelle warns.

“I know.” He’s quiet. “I was scared that you were gone like the rest of them. I don’t—think I could’ve handled that.”

“I was only safe because I never leave my house,” she shrugs, her gaze glued to the floor. “Perks of being an introvert, I guess. You get to watch as everyone you love slowly shrivels up until there’s nothing. And then you have to kill them after they’ve already died on the inside.” Michelle takes a breath and meets Peter’s eyes. “It’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, rheumy-eyed and sniffling. “But if it’s any consolation, I’m glad you’re alive with me.”

Michelle manages an eye-roll and then what could scarcely be considered a smile. “I guess I’m glad to be alive with you. Definitely could’ve been stuck with worse.”

“Hey,” Peter pouts in mock offense but nudges her shoulder playfully. “You love me, don’t lie.”

“Whatever,” Michelle snorts, averting her eyes once more. “So, what’s our plan? I know for a fact that there are a bunch of zombies in my front yard, begging for me to buy their Girl Scout cookies.”

“We could gather supplies and then swing out towards where May works? I have enough web fluid to last the rest of the day, and if we sneak into the school, I might be able to make more.”

“Your suit might be helpful in this situation.”

“It would be...if S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t taken it out of the city to revamp it a little,” Peter frowns. “Timing couldn’t be less inconvenient, I know.”

“Well, then. I doubt anyone’s gonna care if they see you swinging around the city unmasked at this point, anyway,” Michelle exhales. “Come on, Spidey. I’ve got a fridge stocked with ham and cheese rolls that no one’s going to eat unless we take them.”

Peter snags a duffel bag from the foot of her bed and tosses Michelle a jacket with a good-natured wink to go with it. “Weather’s rough out there. Gotta stay warm.”

“Loser.” She follows him down the stairs, but her throat dries up when her mother’s headless body comes back into view. Michelle wishes she could tear her weary eyes away, but she can’t.

_‘Michelle, dinner’s ready.’_

_‘Michelle, have a good day at school.’_

_‘Love you, Michelle.’_

_‘Michelle, it hurts.’_

_‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mom.’_

“MJ.” 

Michelle blinks at the soothing tone of Peter’s voice and immediately tries to hold back the tears. “S—Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” One of his hands comes up, his thumb gently brushing away the traitorous drops that escaped. “I know it’s hard. You don’t have to come down with me if you don’t want to. I can get the food and stuff, and you can wait upstairs.”

“No...no, it’s fine. I don’t care, it’s just a corpse.” It’s just a corpse. _It’s not even her mom, who is probably dancing in a flower field within a world much better than this one._

Peter’s concerned eyes bore into her, but he doesn’t say anything, just takes her hand and walks towards the kitchen. Michelle pulls away from him to start piling junk food into her arms, which she deposits wordlessly into the duffel. Peter, being the smarter one in this situation, makes a beeline for the fridge and pulls out the water bottles and sandwiches. 

“Do you think we’re going to come back here?” Peter asks, tapping his fingers mindlessly on the counter. “I mean, it is your house, and I’m not sure where else would be safe to go, but—”

“I don’t want to come back,” she cuts in, shaking her head. Michelle turns around, busying herself with gathering survival essentials, like first aid and sharp utensils for emergencies. “Not to this house, at least. Having to kill my mother here kind of ruined it for me, so getting out will be the best. In fact, I’d love to leave the whole fucking city if I could, considering there’s no way a cure is even close to being created. I bet the scientists got eaten.”

“Where would you go?” He’s frowning deeply, emotion etched across his features that pains Michelle to decipher.

“Anywhere else.” She pauses and then throws a plastic spoon at him, which he catches absentmindedly. “Or I’d go with you to wherever your fantasy land is, if that was an option.”

“You think I’d just abandon you? What world are you living in, Michelle Jones?” Peter murmurs, his smile teasing and his eyes everything but. “You had it right before, saying you’re stuck with me.”

“I appreciate it, Parker.” She chews her lower lip thoughtfully as her cheeks flood with color before turning away to finish packing whatever else they need into their bag. 

If they somehow do manage to survive this, Michelle will have to send future film-makers ideas and real-life experiences for their next zombie movie. Maybe they can create a documentary. A tragic tale. Something she hopes that future generations—if there are any—will be able to learn from.

But, unfortunately, Michelle doesn’t get a chance to delve deeper into her thoughts as a loud bang reverberates through the house, startling both her and Peter. While he peeks his head around the corner to check it out, she immediately reaches for a kitchen knife, wielding it like a weapon and yet still feels very vulnerable.

“MJ...that was your door.”

“What? Did they break through it or something?”

“No, it literally fell off its hinges from the zombies continuously piling up against it,” Peter utters, his tone rising in panic. “We need to go ASAP.”

“Okay, okay.” Michelle unceremoniously shoves the knife into the duffle bag before pulling it over her shoulder. Her phone gets stuffed into her back pocket and then lets Peter pull her out of the kitchen, towards the back door.

She can begin to hear the moaning coming from her living room. It’s like the opposite of music to her ears, sounding more like a parade of death, ready to recruit another participant, another marcher. Another soul to drag through the gates of hell and back up, leaving them irreparably altered. 

Well, Michelle will be damned if she lets them take her like they took her mom.

“I’m going to need to carry you, because there’s no way we’d be able to walk through the streets without getting stuck in the crowds,” Peter tells her as they stumble onto the grass, already adjusting his web shooters.

“Okay, well, we better do it quick, Parker, because zombies don’t act as dumb as they look,” Michelle mutters, warily keeling an eye on the screen door. She sees them staggering around inside, purposefully looking for a living being to sink their disease into. 

“We aren’t doing the piggyback thing again—”

“Yeah, you nearly _dropped_ me last time.”

“Which is _why_ we’re not doing it. Come here.” She steps forward, but he doesn’t give her a warning before hoisting her up into his arms. This time, Michelle’s pressed up against Peter’s chest and has to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist for a solid grip. With one hand still tightly clutching the duffel bag, she lets her face sag into his shoulder. Her breathing will even out eventually. “Hold tight.”

Michelle feels Peter take a running start before he shoots a web, and then they’re flying through the air, swinging from building to building. The feeling of weightlessness takes over, making her stomach do somersaults as she watches the scenery they pass. It’s something you’d see out of a horror movie.

People are screaming, crying, running for their lives. There are parents desperately chasing after their children, husbands and wives being separated by the chaotic crowds, friends and neighbors leaving each other behind to save their own asses. And, of course, there are zombies in the middle of it all, riddling the streets with blood and broken flesh. The pungent stench of death is making Michelle nauseous.

“Do you think anyone’s going to make it out of this city alive?” Michelle mumbles, though the pessimist in her can already predict the answer.

“I hope so. I really—”

He’s cut off by a desperate scream that tore from someone’s throat.

“_Spider-Man! Spider-Man, help us! Please! Please, help us!_”

It’s the cry of a woman who’s already lost everything except herself, and Michelle can hear the heartbreak in her voice. She can also feel the waver in Peter’s next swing, which makes her think _fuck_. She knows that it’s in his bones to help as many citizens as he can. It’s who he is—who he’s sworn to be as a superhero, the protector of New York, the one who looks out for the little guy. Michelle knows that he can’t just turn his back on them.

“MJ—”

“I already know what you’re thinking, Parker,” she responds quietly. 

“If I can help them...if I can hold the zombies back just enough to give them a chance to run…”

“Then you should. It’s okay. Drop me off on the sidewalk, I can make it to May’s work on my own. I’ll see if I can find her—”

“Michelle, I don’t want to just leave you,” Peter rasps, his voice becoming watered down. He cares too much, she thinks, and in a situation like this, it’s deadly. “I—I can drop you off on a roof or something.”

“Peter, I can fend these zombies off with my mere wit. I’ll be able to handle it, okay? Besides, we need to find out if your aunt is alive, and if she is, I’ll be with her. You can join afterwards, but your job right now is to be Spider-Man. Quantity over quality, just this once.” Which is a complete joke to Michelle because it’s so untrue that it’s sad. Those citizens are worth much more than she ever will be. She’s just one person.

“I don’t…” Peter trails off, and she can feel his chest heaving with reluctance and yet, he gives in to her words, making way to land on the bare sidewalk. “Promise to be careful. Promise me.”

“I swear I’ll be careful, loser.” Once Michelle’s feet touch down on solid ground, she pulls back from Peter and gives him a wry smile. “If you get bit, I’m disowning you as a friend. So, don’t get bit. _You_ promise?”

“I’ll try my hardest,” he responds, nodding his head vehemently. One of Peter’s hands is lingering on her arm, which eventually drops to his side, leaving only the ghost of his touch. “When they’re safe, I’ll find you.”

“I’m counting on that. Go get ‘em, Spidey.” Michelle gives him a two-fingered salute as he starts walking backwards towards the fray of the hordes. Something in her chest tightens at the fact that they’re separating, even if for a short period of time, but she manages to shrug it off and grips the duffle bag harder.

The walk towards the office building that May works in is surprisingly uneventful, minus the barrage of citizens running for their lives in the opposite direction. Still, she has her knife on hand, just in case she has to fight the crowd. Pathetically, the sound that manages to startle Michelle is coming from her own back pocket. It’s a phone call from her other best friend, sending a wave of relief flooding through her.

“Oh, my god, MJ,” Ned’s voice immediately bursts through the phone as soon as she answers. “Holy shit, can you believe what’s happening?”

“No, Ned. I thought I would only get to experience such a thrilling outbreak in my wildest dreams,” comes her deadpan response as she tries to be quiet while peering around the corner of a building. The entrance to May’s office isn’t as clear as Michelle would like it to be, given that there are a few zombies loitering by the door. It doesn’t give her much hope of what’s on the inside.

“Are you somewhere safe? Where’s Peter? He texted me earlier that he was gonna try to find you and some others, but I haven’t heard back since.”

“Currently, I’m taking a leisurely stroll down the streets of Queens—”

“MJ!”

“Shut up, Ned,” she hisses, eyeing the reanimated corpses warily. Their stares are nothing but vacant. They didn’t seem to pick up on his voice, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. “Peter had to do some quick Spider-Man-ing, so I’m trying to locate May. Don’t worry, I’ve got a loaded gun on me and everything.”

“Really?”

“No. I’ve got a knife. I was just trying to worry you less. So, now that we’ve swapped stories, I need to find a way in this building, and you can go back to whatever you’re doing.”

“Wait,” Ned exclaims, his tone edged with concern. “Did Peter end up finding Gwen? Is she okay?”

“He found her. Just not in the way he would’ve liked,” Michelle sighs. “I’ve gotta go, Leeds.” 

“MJ—”

She ends the call just as Ned tries to get another word in. If Michelle’s trying to prove that she’s not a crappy excuse for a friend, she’s doing a pretty shit job. It goes with her complex. 

Michelle pockets those thoughts for later, along with her phone, and attempts at coming up with smart ideas of how to distract the zombies. Surely, barging in there and expecting to knock them all down like bowling pins is unrealistic for her. 

However, if the zombies are attracted to loud sounds like they seem to be, based on observations Michelle has noticed, then she could just throw something in the opposite direction and hope they chase after it. Right?

But they’re not dogs, and they’re not dumb, either. It’s really unfortunate. So, maybe instead of drawing the zombies away from the entrance, she should be trying to find another way in. There aren’t any back doors that are accessible from where Michelle’s standing that she knows of, but there are windows.

One problem—even though she’s 5’10”, the windows are still about a foot taller than her, and Michelle’s lacking the upper body strength to even try jump pull-ups. There is a convenient metal garbage can sitting nearby, though. If she can be quiet enough about it, then she can climb on top and hoist herself into the window that way.

It really sucks that Michelle’s not quiet. The way her Converse hit the rusty metal lid with a reverberated bang isn’t going to bode well. She can tell that the shuffling of feet that’s getting louder isn’t coming from her favorite local mailman, either. From this height, she is able to reach the window sill and pull open the sliding glass, but it’ll still take a decent amount of strength to actually get in. The duffel gets thrown in first with the knife, because attempting to do anything with one hand will go very poorly.

There isn’t enough time to curse out how weak her noodle arms are, because once the zombies come into view, all Michelle can think is do whatever it takes. She heaves herself onto her elbows and uses her feet to somewhat scale the bricks. But fuck it when the zombies push the garbage can out from under her so that she’s dangling from the window ledge. Michelle uses all of the strength she’s gathered from the push-ups she hasn’t done to clamber into the window and nearly falls on her face.

Correction, she actually trips, and her nose hits the ground, but not her full face, which means only one part of her is throbbing at the moment. Fantastic.

Michelle uprights herself with a grunt and picks up the bag before looking around, absently rubbing the bridge of her nose. It seems like she found herself in the lunchroom where people’s abandoned food is scattered everywhere. What a waste. That’s definitely why she grabs a muffin off of someone’s untouched plate before heading towards the hall.

The halls, much like the streets, are oddly empty. Even more so, because at least the streets had the occasional spots of life flitting about. Office buildings even with people in them look sad, but this is just full-on depressing.

She knows that May’s office is on the fifth floor, so Michelle steps into the elevator, which works—thank god, because she really doesn’t feel like taking the stairs. 

When the doors open, Michelle walks into yet another bland hallway, though this one is more unsettling than the previous, given that there’s dried blood staining the floor. She swallows down her anxiousness and carefully treads through it, feeling the knife tremble a bit in her hand. 

That’s when a zombie just casually limps out of a janitor’s closet, doing who knows what, and Michelle nearly walks right into it. Her eyes widen and she doesn’t have time to wonder how it got up there, because it’s definitely going to eat her if she doesn’t do something.

“I’ve got a personal bubble, and you’re clearly overstepping your boundaries, dickwad,” she mutters, backing up towards the end of the hall. The zombie only continues to follow, its mouth clenching and unclenching, like it’s already imagining her flesh between its teeth. Michelle, with her free hand, is able to feel the window latch behind her. “Just a little closer.”

Once the zombie is about a foot away, she wrenches the window open and steps to the side, preparing to stab it and then push, but someone else does that job for her.

“Zombies are really starting to get on my nerves.” And the next thing Michelle sees is the undead falling face-first through the window.

“Holy shit. This is why I love you, May,” Michelle exhales, giving Peter’s aunt a half-smile. She returns it wearily and runs one hand across her forehead, wiping some sweat away.

“Thank you, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I didn’t get away scot-free.” May brandishes her other arm to reveal a fresh bite mark decorating the wrist. Michelle’s heart falls to her feet and before she knows it, she’s stabbing her knife into the wall plaster. It sticks.

“The world is really proving itself to be a living hell, huh?” She shakes her head and wipes away a traitorous tear that slips out. “I was hoping you could’ve made it with us. Peter needs you. So do I.”

It’s like May can see right into her soul, see all of the scars and the wounds that still have yet to heal. It’s raw and painful, and it still really fucking hurts.

“Michelle, I know that you’ll be able to get through this. You don’t need me like you think. Neither does Pete, not if you have each other—not if you’re there for each other. It sucks, it does, but don’t give up. Okay? This may not be the end of the world.”

“How do you know?” Her voice breaks in all the wrong places.

“Because I have hope.”

“Even though you’re dying?” Michelle whispers, wiping her eyes again, shamelessly this time. May is doing the same.

“Even though I’m dying,” she replies, a flash of pain—though Michelle can’t tell if it’s emotional or physical—crossing her features. “Be strong, be safe, and take care of one another. Tell Peter I love him and that I’m proud. And, Michelle, it’s okay to let yourself feel something once in a while. You won’t break.” May’s smile is weak and kind at the same time.

“What if I already did?”

“You’ll find a way to put yourself back together.” May pauses and then take a deep, shuddering breath. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you took that knife and put it through here.” Her hand hovers over where her heart is.

“Are you kidding—I c-can’t do that,” Michelle refuses, feeling like her tears will be permanently etched into her skin if she does. Having to kill one parental figure was enough, but now May?

“I’d rather it be you than this nasty thing.” Her bitten wrist is behind her back so that Michelle can’t see it, but there are veins that are starting to protrude up her arm. “It’s okay, honey. I promise I won’t feel an ounce of pain.”

Michelle bites her tongue hard enough to draw blood before letting out a cry of frustration. She tears out the knife that was previously penetrating the wall and turns around, squeezing her eyes shut. There’s a hand guiding hers to where the blade is going to bury itself. All she has to do is apply the pressure.

And Michelle does.

But it feels like she’s digging it into herself as well.

All May does is release a soft gasp and then there’s nothing. Her body sags against the wall, crumpling in on itself as it touches the floor. Michelle can’t see properly out of her eyes with tears stinging and blurring her vision, but she attempts to sit May upright.

And then she allows herself to break down.

Michelle isn’t positive how long she sits next to May’s corpse, shoulders heaving and breathing uneven, but the floor is slick with her tears and a few droplets of blood. She eventually forces herself to remove the knife from May’s chest, wincing internally as the squelching sound of flesh being torn is ricocheting inside her head.

The elevator dings just then as it arrives to that floor, and Michelle immediately stands up, already on the defensive. She’s squeezing the blade too tight, coloring her knuckles white. But the doors open, and she doesn’t even have to look to know there’s a heartbroken expression on Peter’s face.

“No, no, no,” he gasps, his breath hitching in the worst way, scrambling forward to crouch in front of his aunt. “Oh, my god, no, _May_.”

“Such is life,” Michelle mutters under her breath, having to turn away from the scene that’s causing her eyes to prickle with tears again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

There’s a moment of complete silence, and then she watches the back of Peter as he shakes his head.

“Don’t say that.”

“Whatever, Parker.” Michelle swallows the lump in her throat and continues to stare at the blank wall she’s leaning on. 

“I’m serious. Don’t apologize for being unable to prevent the inevitable.” His voice breaks but he plows through. “It’s happening to everyone. In the streets—there were people who couldn’t get away in time. I couldn’t do anything to save them. _Such is life_, you said.”

“It’s different when that person is someone you know and someone you care about. It’s different when you have to be the one to put an end to what was supposed to be a long life of your loved one.” 

“I hope you’re not being a hypocrite here and blaming yourself for what happened to May. You were the one who told me that no one can be everywhere all of the time.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” She scoffs, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Don’t become me who feels guilty for every little bad thing that happens,” Peter murmurs, his voice soft and coaxing. “It’ll ruin you if you let it. I know May wouldn’t want that to happen. Neither do I.”

“I can’t help it sometimes,” Michelle admits quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose. Occasionally, a bad case of her guilt complex appears out of nowhere, and it’s hard to shake—especially in times like this when she feels she could’ve done something more. She tried and she wasn’t enough.

“I know the feeling. Just try to let it go,” he soothes, startling Michelle slightly by running a hand up and down her forearm. She didn’t even know he was behind her. Her body subconsciously leans back against his, and Peter presses his nose into her shoulder. There’s just something about his touch that can slow her breathing, she thinks.

“Are you okay...like, injury-wise?” She finally asks, aware that her eyes haven’t raked over his appearance once. She’s not sure how bad things got in the fray.

“Zombies are menaces, but yeah, I’m okay.”

Michelle turns around to assess him for herself and sees that parts of his shirt are torn, fresh bruises are starting to form, but overall, it’s nothing that won’t heal. “You did good, Spider-Man.”

“Thanks. Guess the secret identity’s kind of down the drain, but it doesn’t really matter now, huh?” His chuckle is humorless, but she still quirks one side of her lips. “I’m glad you’re safe, by the way. I’m not sure if I actually mentioned that or just kept thinking it over and over.”

“Safe?” Michelle muses, raising an eyebrow. “None of us are safe, Parker.”

“Er—I’m glad you didn’t get hurt I guess is what I’m trying to say,” he stammers, cheeks flushing slightly.

“I fell on my nose while trying to climb in a window. It feels a little crooked if I’m being honest.”

“MJ,” Peter exclaims in amused exasperation, a real smile forming on his face. She feigns an innocent expression and merely shrugs in response. He reaches out and lightly runs his thumb down the bridge of her nose, which is both Peter and un-Peter-like in her opinion. “Yeah, you’re right. It does feel a little crooked.”

“Shut up, dork,” she laughs and lightly shoves his shoulder. He sheepishly grins and ducks his head. “By the way, Leeds called me earlier. Worst timing ever, but that’s to be expected from nerds.”

“Really?” Peter perks up at the mention of his best friend and smiles crookedly at her. “What did he say? How’s he doing?”

“Uh, well, he was just wondering what was going on with us and everything. Nothing too spectacular is happening. At least Ned is safe, though, wherever that may be,” Michelle informs him, trying to maintain her decent mood. “He’s probably doing better than we are.” Because that sentence isn’t a total downer. She just can’t help the natural flow of pessimism.

“That’s good, but I don’t think we’re doing that bad. We’ve got our supplies, we’re in a secure building...sort of, and the floor we’re on has no zombies. Hopefully. We could camp out here for a while if we want to. I don’t think traipsing around at night will be the best idea, anyway.”

“Ever the optimist, Parker,” she hums, giving him an appraising look. Once again, Peter’s cheeks flood with color, and his hand moves to mess up his already disheveled curls. “If we’re really gonna set up camp here, I’d say we move into one of the offices.”

“Yeah, yeah, good idea. Uhm, we could just go in May’s…” Peter trails off, his expression feeble and tentative, but Michelle backs him up wholeheartedly, because she knows it’ll be ten times more comfortable than any other room. She’s got bean bags packed in there. 

They both peek their heads into May’s office, which is empty of life like they expected. Michelle ushers Peter in first and then closes the door behind her, locking it as well. They don’t want any surprises, that’s for sure. She drops the duffel on the floor while Peter immediately goes for the tissues, which he actually uses to wipe the blood off her kitchen knife. It’s painful, knowing that the woman whose blood that belongs to is the same one who decorated the office so eccentrically that they can practically feel her life force radiating off the walls.

“I’m exhausted,” Michelle utters, letting herself collapse into one of the colored bean bags sitting on the prettily patterned rug. “I really hope this isn’t how it’s going to be for the rest of our lives.”

“Ditto,” Peter responds quietly, setting the knife on the wooden desk. “I thought that the worst thing to ever happen to the world already occurred, but this feels so much more severe, funnily enough.”

“Are you talking about the Blip?”

“Yeah. You’d think that the lowest point would be half of the population disappearing from existence, but we all came back in the end. I...don’t have much hope for it turning out that way here.”

“Who knows, maybe some genius will be able to fabricate a cure before the earth is a lost cause. I doubt it’s reached the countries on the other side of the world. We still have time,” she reasons, and yet, she’s trying not to give herself hope. Michelle is not like May, who managed to see light in the dark. It’s a more of a never-ending tunnel full of shadows and worst fears coming to pass.

Michelle lets out a soft sigh, starting to feel her eyelids droop. There aren’t any windows in May’s office, so she’s not sure of the time or if it’s even close to night. All Michelle knows is that sleeping seems like the best idea right now. 

“Are you comfortable? Do you want another bean bag to rest your legs on or something?” Peter asks hesitantly, his shadow looming over her.

“There are only two bean bags in the room, Parker, I’m not hogging them both,” Michelle declines, brushing it off. “Besides, if I want a footrest, I’ll just put them in your lap, problem solved.”

“You can do that if you want to,” he offers. “I really don’t mind, MJ.” She opens one eye to see if he’s serious, and surprise, surprise, his expression says it checks out.

“My feet won’t smell good, loser, I don’t keep an air freshener in my shoes,” she warns, raising an eyebrow. 

“Eh, I’ve already smelled Ned’s feet up close and personal. I don’t think yours will be as bad,” Peter shrugs, half-smiling. Michelle can’t help but roll her eyes as he positions himself across from her. “Come on, give ‘em to me.”

“You’re such a dork.” It comes out more fondly than she expected but Michelle doesn’t find herself embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, she kicks off her Converse and rests them on either side of Peter’s hips. She doesn’t want to accidentally kick his crotch during the night or anything. His hands settle themselves on her shins, and it makes Michelle feel content.

“Sleep well, MJ.”

“You, too, Parker.”


	2. you'd come over, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow another chapter already?

When Michelle wakes up in the morning—she assumes it’s morning, at least, even though there aren’t any windows to see the sun out of—there’s a very annoying crick in her neck. There’s also one less human being in the room than there was when she fell asleep, which is concerning in this situation.

Michelle quickly stands up, toes on her shoes but doesn’t bother tying them, and then grabs their belongings that are still lingering in the room. The second she steps out the door, her nose is hit with a painfully familiar scent of death and rotting corpse, causing her eyes to water. She has to close them when passing May, unable to stand the sight or smell.

Peter isn’t anywhere on this floor, she thinks with painful realization. If he was, then he would’ve known she was up and looking for him. Michelle tries not to assume the worst and stabs at the down elevator button until her finger is sore. It opens after a few seconds, and surprise, surprise, it’s _empty_.

Frustration fills her core, because why would he just leave without telling her? Not wanting to wake her up is a pathetic excuse at times like these, and she’s going to tell him that if she finds him. _When_.

Her stomach is growling obnoxiously on the way down, so Michelle pulls out a ham and cheese roll from the bag and bites it with fervor. It’s easier to take out her emotions on food rather than anything else.

Once she reaches ground level, Michelle pauses, because she forgot that this is not the way she came inside. No, the cafeteria was on the second floor. The first is too easily accessible by zombies, which is very obvious by the fucking horde of them walking around the main lobby.

Maybe they can smell her sandwich, who the hell knows, but one of them turns their head in her direction, which is not good—_not good at all_. Michelle quickly presses the fifth button again, desperately hoping that the elevator doors will close quick enough. It’s a good thing zombies are slow...but of course, elevators are slower. She has to kick her leg out so that the one corpse trying to wriggle itself in stumbles back.

Unfortunately, it pulls her fucking shoe off. 

Michelle curses herself for not tying them properly when she woke up. She does manage to make it back to home base without losing any limbs, thank god, and right there, eyes glued to his screen as he paces back and forth, is Peter.

His head whips up, eyes wide with alarm, and Michelle notices his complexion is quite pale, only his cheeks colored a marvelous red. She wonders if it matches her annoyed aura.

“Thank god, MJ—” Peter’s expression floods with relief as he steps towards her with one hand outstretched, but Michelle’s having none of it.

“Where the hell did you go, Parker?” She snaps, marching towards him, her single Converse slapping the linoleum angrily. 

“What? I could be asking you the same question,” he exclaims, brows pinched. 

“I woke up and you were gone, so no, _I_ should be the only one asking,” Michelle states, crossing her arms. Peter’s mouth parts in realization, and he scrambles for an explanation.

“I thought I heard something outside—there was a bang, so I went to go check it out,” Peter explains apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t someone who was injured or needed help...but it was just a zombie knocking over some trash cans.”

“Okay, maybe think to wake me next time so I don’t assume you’re who knows where?” She grinds out between her teeth. “I was looking for you, Parker. I lost a shoe to a zombie because I thought you were down in the freaking lobby or something.”

“Oh, my god, are you okay? I was worried when I came back and found the room empty—I tried texting you, but your phone’s probably off. I didn’t think that you…”

“That I would look for you?”

“No, I just thought that you wouldn’t jump headfirst into danger,” he says, ducking his head sheepishly. “Thank you for coming to look for me, but if it puts you in harm’s way—”

“Don’t be an asshole, Peter,” Michelle interrupts, and though her tone is calm, she feels on the defensive. “If I don’t know where you are, I’m going to look for you, got it? Because I know you’d do the same for me, and because I worry. I’m not losing anyone else to this fucking apocalypse, I refuse. A way to avoid this is to just tell me where you’re going, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter exhales, anxiously raking a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry, Em. I’ll make sure to let you know next time, I promise. There’s already too much of a risk even going outside, so it was stupid of me to leave without a warning.” He stands there for a moment, awkwardly tapping his foot against the tiles, and then decides to pull her in for a hug. Michelle wasn’t actually counting on this, so her hands are pressed against his chest—his very _solid_ chest. 

“I’m afraid you’ve gone mushy on me, Parker,” she exhales with a soft sigh.

“We both know I’ve always been mushy,” he mutters into her curls, which are probably in desperate need for a wash. 

“I won’t argue with you there.” Michelle pulls away from Peter and gives him an amused half-smile. “So...Em, huh? Is that supposed to be a new nickname?” She hates that it isn’t one she chose herself, but coming from Peter, there’s just something about it.

“Oh, uhm, sorry, it just kind of slipped,” Peter admits, wincing a little. “You can forget it if you want, I wasn’t really thinking and in the heat of the moment, everything—”

“What if I don’t want to forget about it?” She snarks, though her tone is light to let him know she really doesn’t mind. He smiles, partially in embarrassment, and averts his eyes to the floor. “Fits my persona quite nicely, doesn’t it?” Jokingly, Michelle thinks, because _Em_ sounds like an intimate shortening of her current nickname.

“It does. I think it suits you, and I...I like it.” There’s no hint that Peter’s joking in his voice, so Michelle can only blush slightly in return and looks away. “O—only if you do, of course. If it bothers you—”

“Shut up, loser, you can call me whatever your little heart desires.” She shoots him a quick, mostly meaningless wink, but it has Peter stuttering for words. “Come on, we should go.”

“Go—wait, where are we going?”

“You’re almost out of your webs, right? So, you need to make more. That’s what we’re going to do—back at Midtown,” Michelle quips, hoisting the bag back over her shoulder. Peter’s eyes widen momentarily before he nods quickly.

“Okay, yeah, that’s a good idea. Uhm, are you going to...I mean, you only have one shoe on. Do you want me to find you one or—” Peter cuts himself off, and Michelle can practically see the lightbulb go off above his head. “I know that May kept some extra pairs of shoes here for when she felt like heels were too much for her soul. Heh. Get it? Sole, soul—”

“Yeah, yeah, Parker, you’re a nerd who likes wordplay,” she muses, unable to help the snort that escapes. “It wasn’t even that good, but carry on.”

“Ouch, I see how it is. But, yeah, she’s got a couple of shoes in that filing cabinet thingy.” He gestures her back inside the office, and they open the bottom drawer in the cabinet, which is filled to the brim with sandals and sneakers and heels that must’ve been ditched. “Maybe more than a couple.”

Michelle chuckles lightheartedly and pulls out an old sneaker of May’s that doesn’t match her black Converse whatsoever. Maybe that’s why she chose it, though, because damn, who wouldn’t want to walk around a zombie-infested New York in one yellow shoe and one black?

“Okay, I think I’m good now. Let’s go.” She stands up and walks over to the elevator but pauses for a good second. “We should probably go to the second floor since the first is still overrun…”

“Or we can just exit through this window,” Peter suggests, pointing to the one at the end of the hallway—the same one she and May had pushed the zombie out of. 

“Are you crazy? No way, I’ll fall and crack my neck,” Michelle protests, shaking her head fervently. “You’re the only sticky one around here.”

“Come on, I’ll carry you down,” he coaxes in that smooth tone of his that makes it hard to argue. “It’ll be safer than going to a floor that’s probably got zombies waiting to take chunks out of our brains, right?”

“I’m starting to think you’re just making excuses to get close to me,” she jokes in a nervous voice, biting at her nails. It’s not really a fair thing to say, nor is it true, considering Peter just lost his girlfriend, and he’s trying to be logical here. Whatever, Michelle will never be a fan of heights, and this is her only defense. 

“I swear I won’t let you fall, Em.” She’s grateful Peter chose to ignore her statement, though the light blush dusting his cheeks indicates that he heard it. “You trust me?”

“Duh. I wouldn’t be hanging out with you if I didn’t,” Michelle sighs, wiping her expression blank. “Let’s just go through the stupid window, then. My eyes will be closed the whole time.”

Peter nods and walks over to the window, opening it as wide as possible. “We’ll just get in the same position as we do when we go swinging. Okay?” She doesn’t say anything in response, just lifts the bag further onto her shoulder before wrapping around Peter like a koala. The only difference between yesterday and today is that he’s not holding on.

“Woah, woah, woah, are you saying it’s up to _me_ to not let go?”

“I have to use both hands to climb down,” he supplies as an explanation. Michelle groans and squeezes her eyes shut as soon as they leave solid ground to scale down the building. It goes by quicker than she imagined, thank god, because her hands were becoming clammy and slick. “Hey, we’re okay. You’re okay. You can open your eyes now.”

“Thank god,” she utters and scrambles for a footing on the concrete. His hands slide away from her waist, and Michelle has to blink, having not realized they were there previously. “We...we should get going before we become sitting ducks.”

The two of them start cautiously heading down the sidewalk, which is marginally less crowded than it was the day before. That’s either a really good or really bad sign. Michelle notices that some people have taken shelter in a number of abandoned buildings that are now boarded up while others are still trying to survive on the streets. She refuses to let herself look down alleyways or the doorsteps of homes, because that’s where the bodies lie. The ones that haven’t reanimated, of course.

“Did you get your college acceptance letter?” Peter speaks up, quietly breaking the eerie silence.

“Yeah. Last week. I would’ve made it to Harvard,” she sighs, shaking her head in disappointment.

“I would’ve made it to MIT. Our colleges are really close to one another. That would’ve been nice.” She can hear him inhale shakily. “If it ever becomes possible, if this virus disappears, it doesn’t matter how old I am, I swear I’ll make it to college.”

“Even if you’re ninety?”

“Even if I’m ninety and in a wheelchair,” he murmurs. “All I’ve ever wanted is to just experience life. Things have gotten in the way before, and things are getting in the way now...I’d love it if the universe could go right for once.”

“Let me know if that ever happens. I’ll be sure to retract my one-way early-access pass to hell,” Michelle snorts and looks away when Peter has to kick a manhole cover back over the opening so that zombies crawling up the ladder can’t get through. She half-freezes though when her phone vibrates in her back pocket. Peter’s does the same thing.

They exchange wary glances before pulling out their respective devices to see what’s going on. Michelle chews thoughtfully on her lower lip, seeing that the government had sent out a worldwide alert. New York is going to be quarantined to keep the disease from spreading. From this point, no unauthorized personnel can go in or out.

“Great. So we’re stuck,” Peter mutters, shaking his head in slight disgust. “What about all of these families that aren’t infected? They can’t stay here—they need somewhere to go that’s safe.”

“I guess since the disease originated here, they want to keep it from fanning out to other states and countries, if it hasn’t already. They’re a bit late on that end, I’m not sure how good this’ll do.”

“What are they gonna do—station agents all around the border to keep people from crossing? Because that’s real logical.”

“Maybe they’ll just board off New York forever, say it was never a state and leave the rest of us to die,” Michelle scoffs, pushing the broken gate open to Midtown High. The school grounds already seem a bit like a ghost town.

“Whatever, I hope the government comes to their senses.” The two of them approach the front doors, and Peter tentatively cracks one of them open to peer inside. From Michelle’s line of vision, it looks like the hallways were completely abandoned and a few things were broken, but nothing too unsalvageable. 

“Uh, how's your Spidey sense feeling?”

“I don’t think there’s anything around here, so we should be okay. Just stay close to me, Em,” he advises while taking a few steps inside.

“Excuse you, I’m the one with the knife,” she snorts quietly, even though she does lack the ability to detect any threatening presences before they appear. “Chem lab?”

“Yep. We just have to be—” Peter’s cut off by the sound of Michelle’s borrowed sneaker crushing a soda can that was tossed onto the floor. They both cringe as the noise echoes through the empty hall. “Quiet…”

“I’m sorry, I’m not a quiet person,” Michelle apologizes sheepishly and scurries ahead to the lab to avoid any more mishaps. The windows that were lined along the wall previously are now all smashed in, glass shards decorating the floor. Not to mention are a few broken beakers and test tubes leaking colorful fluid onto countertops. Peter immediately walks over to one of the lab stations and starts pulling out colorful liquids from the drawers. “Okay...you do your thing, and I’ll keep watch.”

As Peter starts pouring whatever chemicals he uses to create his web fluid, Michelle wanders around the classroom, examining the types of things that students have left behind over the weekend, assuming that they would come back the next Monday. There are a few projects sitting on the counters, ones she distinctly remembers working on during sophomore year. They were hellish. Michelle won’t be the last to admit that chemistry wasn’t her favorite subject.

She’s about to open a cabinet or two, just out of curiosity to see if there are any tools that could be used as weapons, but then there’s a crash coming from down the hall. At least, that’s what it sounds like. 

“Shit,” Peter hisses and quickly stirs his concoction. “I’m almost done.”

“Peter, I don’t—” Michelle is suddenly cut off by rapid gunfire, and though it’s not directed into the classroom, her immediate reaction is to duck. She holds her breath in anticipation, wondering who in the world would be so stupid to use firearms. Noise attracts the zombies, so if they’re looking for attention, then ten out of ten.

Meanwhile, Peter hurriedly caps his web fluid and shoves it into his pockets before joining her by the cabinets. Michelle notices that he’s hovering in front of her as they face the door cautiously, like his body can act like a human-shield to whatever’s thrown their way. She notes the protectiveness in the back of her mind, but also, Spider-Man’s not bullet-proof. At least, not without his suit.

Michelle isn’t sure how their location is given away, considering they’re not the ones making noise, but a zombie just then starts slamming its head against the chemistry door. It’s leaving splatters of blood that’s leaked from the forehead gashes, and she’s afraid the glass is going to break. 

It doesn’t last, though, since the next thing she witnesses is a bullet flying straight through the zombie’s brain, which means it also goes through the glass part of the door. Michelle flinches as it buries itself into the opposite wall. 

“Mr. Parker, you are a hard man to track down,” a somewhat recognizable voice announces as the door swings open. The zombie’s body falls into a heap, and a black combat boot steps on the head. For god’s sake, Michelle’s going to puke.

“F-Fury? What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Not easily,” Fury states gruffly, narrowing his good eye. 

“Of course you’d be the one to come in here, guns blazing. Did you even stop to think how much attention that would attract? What about people who are actually trying to hide in this school?” Michelle grinds out in annoyance, uncaring that she’s probably being disrespectful. 

“Who’s your friend?” He questions, staring at Peter with a somewhat bored expression, like he has more important things to be doing right now.

“_His friend_ is Michelle Jones who doesn’t need to be introduced by anyone except herself,” she retorts, crossing her arms. S.H.I.E.L.D. has never been one of her favorite organizations, and now that she’s met Nick Fury in person, she can conclude that her opinion’s been right all along.

“We’re just trying to get through this zombie thing,” Peter measly explains, and Fury looks impatient, tapping his dirtied boots.

“Okay, well, I’ve got your suit, Parker. You’re coming with us to Europe where we’ve got a team of scientists trying to counteract the virus. Judging by how Stark always used to brag about how big your brain is, you’d be a great help with figuring out a cure.”

“Wait, what? No, I can’t just go to Europe.”

“Sure you can. We’ve already got a private jet prepared and everything, so suit up, Spider-Man—”

“No, I mean, I’m not just going to leave New York,” Peter tells him firmly. “Unless I’m allowed to evacuate the entire city and bring them on the jet with me as well, which I’m assuming is a no—”

“We only have authorization to remove you, Mr. Parker.”

“Then I’m definitely not leaving. You don’t need me to figure out the cure, because I don’t know anything, anyway. Okay?”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Fury begins to say, quickly getting agitated, but Peter raises his voice over him. Frankly, Michelle’s impressed and more than a little entertained by how he’s not taking any of Fury’s bullshit. 

“You’re right, it isn’t! There are people that I love that are still in this city, Fury. There are people that I refuse to leave behind,” Peter snaps, his voice wavering a little with anger. Michelle doesn’t outright demonstrate her praise for him standing up for what he wants, but her fingers _accidentally_ brush against his knuckles, which leads to him cupping the palm of her hand without a second thought. It’s an odd turn of events and not one that she’s entirely opposed to. “You don’t need Spider-Man, not when you probably have a million geniuses working right now.”

Fury clenches his jaw before slowly letting out a breath, shaking his head. “I guess I can’t force you, Parker. I just hope you realize that this is the only chance you have to get out of the city at the moment. Are you sure you don’t want to take it?”

“I’m sure.”

“Fine. Take your suit back, though, because I surely have no use for it,” he says and hands Peter a case. 

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles, taking it with his free hand. Fury purses his lips, glancing between him and Michelle for a quick second and then shakes his head once more. 

“Don’t die in this city, Parker. We’re already short on Avengers.” And then Fury takes his leave. Michelle stares after him as his boots mark a trail of bloody footprints before coming to her senses. Her hand is still linked with Peter’s, so she quickly lets go and crosses her arms.

“Fury is a real delight,” Michelle quips, raising an eyebrow. Peter clears his throat and sets down the case.

“Sorry about him. He, uh, he’s always like that. I didn’t expect him to come here or anything. I don’t even know why they’d even want me in Europe…”

“Because you’re a genius, dumbass. You’ve seen enough sci-fi movies to last a lifetime. And because you’re Spider-Man—an Avenger. Superheroes are needed on the side of the world that isn’t a lost cause, too.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “But leaving was never going to be an option—not without you. Or Ned. And now that I have the suit, I think I could help a lot more people, you know? At least...whoever’s left.”

Michelle stares at him in slight surprise, but she shouldn’t be shocked—not at all. It’s Peter, the one who always tries his best to make sure everyone’s doing okay—the one who stretches himself out so thin just so others won’t suffer as much. If anything, he’ll be the reason New York survives this outbreak.

He’s too good of a person, and Michelle’s starting to hate that the feelings she’s managed to keep under wraps for years are beginning to bubble up and choke her. This absolutely _sucks_, because at the same time, she can’t think these things, not right now. His girlfriend just died, and she’s getting butterflies from the simplest of touches. Doesn’t matter how long Michelle’s harbored feelings, she can’t act on them or say anything. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” she finally exhales, looking away from his face. “I’m not even going to try to change your mind, so long as you’re careful and your suit is...bite-proof?”

“Iron-Spider at the moment, so yeah,” Peter offers with a wry smile.

“Great. Great…” Michelle trails off, unsure of what else to say. While her best friend is able to help police the city, she will probably be stuck inside of four walls for a sickening amount of time, just waiting. Waiting for a national announcement of the discovery of a cure. Waiting until it’s safe to go outside. She could be waiting for her entire life for something that might never come.

Peter seems to notice her expression is melting into one of forlorn and takes a step closer, his eyes imploring her to smile or do something that remotely resembles a speck of happiness. “It won’t be all the time. I wouldn’t subject you to that amount of loneliness. You’d miss me too much.” His tone is light and teasing, like he’s trying to goad her into retorting. She musters a half-smile to please him.

“You wish.” Her words are lacking the usual energy, but Michelle doesn’t have it in her to fake it. “But, really, it’s fine. You have a job to do, saving people and all. Don’t bother worrying about me or anything.”

“You act like it’s something I can just turn off,” Peter says with a slight frown.

“It would make your job easier if it were,” she sighs.

“That doesn’t mean I would,” he counters, biting his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed. “Is something bothering you, Em?”

Michelle takes a moment to pull herself from her own head. “No. It’s nothing. We should get going, dork. I’m going to need to find somewhere to stay while you’re off doing Spider-Man things.”

Peter looks like he wants to prod further but goes along with her topic change reluctantly. “We could stop by my apartment. I haven’t been there since yesterday morning, but I doubt anything’s changed inside, probably because May always reminded me to lock the front door.” His expression crumbles for a millisecond and then returns back to neutral, like he’s trying not to think about the loss of his aunt. “Maybe we could watch Star Wars tonight.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d want to watch a train wreck like Star Wars,” Michelle responds with a slight scoff, nudging his shoulder. He lets out a breathy chuckle and shakes his head.

“Your loss.”


	3. you'd come over and you'd stay the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the titles are now being based off a song that I’ve recently fallen in love with sooo

“I’m starting to really dislike this method of transportation,” Michelle gasps as they land on the fire escape right outside the window overlooking the dining room of Peter’s apartment. “I’m pretty sure you nearly ran us into a flock of birds.”

“It’s not my fault there’s no air traffic control,” he huffs, yet still smiling. Michelle can’t help but notice how windblown his curls are and figures hers probably look the same way but worse. Peter finally opens the window, and she immediately clambers inside so her arms will stop aching. His Spider-Man suit is surprisingly very heavy inside its case, which she had to hold—along with the duffel—the whole swing over. 

“God, I don’t know how you carry that thing. What did Fury put in there, a ton of bricks?” She snorts, plonking the case onto the wooden floors. 

“It’s not that bad after you have to lug it around a couple of times.”

“You mean it’s not so bad since you’ve got muscles, and I lack them. It’s shocking, I know.” Michelle drops the duffel on the ground as well and takes her fingers through her matted hair, which she desperately needs to wash. “Think I could take a shower real quick?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’m pretty sure the water still works here. You...you need clothes or anything? I’m sure May’s drawers are full...or—or you could just borrow something of mine. I don’t care—either way,” Peter stammers, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I don’t care, either,” she responds, narrowing her eyes before going up the stairs. The only shower Michelle’s used in this apartment before was the one in the hallway. It’s the only one she felt comfortable in, but it’s lacking the essentials this time—a shower curtain, for one. She assumes that May was in the middle of washing it, which isn’t a big deal.

Michelle could always use the one in May’s room, but that would mean having to pass through the plethora of memories of her along the way, and she isn’t sure that’s a good idea. That’s why Michelle swivels on her heels and treads over to Peter’s bathroom, full of men products. Who gives a shit at this point? She grabs a random science pun t-shirt from his closet and some sweatpants before locking herself in the bathroom.

It doesn’t take her nearly as long to shower since there’s no reason to mentally quiz herself on decathlon questions while sudsing. Peter doesn’t own a hairdryer, she notes, which sucks, but whatever. 

By the time Michelle finishes drying off and getting dressed, her stomach is rumbling achingly. She exits the bathroom speedily and nearly misses the sight of Peter in his room, sitting on the bottom bunk. He’s staring at a framed picture in his hand sadly, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the glass. 

When Peter notices her, he puts the picture face-down on the blanket next to him, but she doesn’t miss the flash of blonde hair in the photo. He sticks on a smile, which is wobbly, and Michelle can see right through it.

“What did you—”

“It’s okay if you want to cry, Parker,” she interrupts, deadpan but assuring. “It’s healthy.”

“What…?”

“Peter.” He looks up at her, eyebrows pinched in pain, and Michelle feels her heart being carved into. She sits next to him, criss-cross, and lightly rests a hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t talked about it, and I completely get that. But you’re obviously sad, and you haven’t mourned properly. It’s okay to let yourself right now. You miss her. It’s not fair that she died. I wish I could change that for you.”

_I would gladly suffer to put that smile back on your face._

Peter doesn’t say anything but she watches as a tear rolls down his cheek. It drips onto the comforter. He blinks and then more fall, one after another. There are too many to count, so Michelle doesn’t even try. She just lets him sink his head onto her shoulder, his body wracking silently. Her hand comes up to smooth the hair back from his face, feeling more like a parent consoling a child than a fellow mourner. 

The fabric of her borrowed shirt is damp against her skin, and Michelle figures that a few more tears wouldn’t hurt. She inhales deeply, truly allowing herself to think of her mother and May, two of the many people she knows she lost. A lump forms in the back of her throat and her eyes sting, because crying hurts just as much as the loss itself. 

Michelle is sure her eyes are bloodshot by the end of their grieving session, which lasted longer than she anticipated. She’s exhausted and hungry and really missing the people she’ll never get to see again. But at least she’s not alone, because in times like these, that would be much worse.

“Thank you,” Peter finally speaks up, sounding a little congested. He lifts his head from her shoulder, and she can see the barely-there tear streaks remaining on his cheeks. 

“For what?”

“For crying with me.” He smiles again, and even though it’s small, it’s much more real than the one previously attempted.

“Yeah,” is all she can really say, her voice soft and a little weak sounding. Michelle clears her throat and then abruptly stands up, needing to get away from this situation where her cheeks are warming from the way he’s staring. “I, uh, I’m starving.”

“Oh. Of course, right. We haven’t eaten in forever,” Peter nods, averting his eyes. Michelle waits as he sets his picture frame back on the nightstand, and she sees that it’s of him lifting Gwen off her feet in a tight hug on the sidewalk, both of their smiles a mile long. She feels like a horrible person, because Gwen isn’t even here, and yet, it still hurts to look at the photo.

Michelle tears her gaze away from the picture and walks downstairs without another word. Maybe having Peter as her survival buddy wasn’t the smartest idea after all.

~~~

“So...I was thinking that tomorrow, I could get started on the whole patrolling thing? Do you...are you okay with that?” Peter speaks up tentatively as they eat their bowls of microwaved vegetables and ham and cheese sliders on the couch. Michelle looks over at him, her fork currently stabbing through a piece of cauliflower, and shrugs.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She clears her throat and looks down at her bowl of soggy vegetables, which have lost flavor from being kept in the freezer for so long. “You do your thing out there. Help as many people as you can.”

“I’ll try my best,” he replies, his tone weary and soft, making Michelle glance up at him. Their eyes meet for a split second but she quickly averts her gaze for reasons she’s tired of thinking about. A break from everything would be nice. Her mind needs a rest, it’s been spinning nonstop and honestly, she isn’t sure how sleep came to her last night.

“I’m really not that hungry anymore,” Michelle sighs and sets her bowl down on the coffee table. Next to it sits her untouched sandwich.

“What? No, you’ve hardly eaten anything today. C’mon, Em, where’s your appetite?” Peter leans forward to grab her bowl, examining how much she actually ate out of it. 

“I don’t know, I just kind of lost it. My head hurts, it’s hot in here, and I’m tired. I just wanna go to sleep.”

Peter furrows his brows and glances backwards to look at the thermostat. “I don’t think the heat is on...doubt it even works.” His palm comes up without warning and presses lightly against her forehead. “Maybe you’re dehydrated. I hope you’re not sick.”

“I don’t feel sick but I don’t remember the last time I drank something,” she admits, letting her head fall into her hand. Peter quickly stands up and darts over to the kitchen. Michelle can hear him using the faucet, and he returns with a glass full to the brim with water. It spills a little on her sweatpants as he hands it over clumsily, an apologetic smile on his face. 

“Sorry, but this should make you feel better. Drink up.”

“Thanks, Parker.” Downing the cool liquid does make her head pound a little less. She relaxes a little more and leans back into the cushions after setting the glass on the table. “I think I’m just going to sleep right here.”

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna shower real quick, and then I’ll be back down,” he tells her, and Michelle opens one eye to look up at him.

“You can sleep in your bedroom, y’know. I don’t really care.”

“Yeah, I know,” Peter says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I guess I’d just feel more comfortable down here...with you. Only if you don’t mind, obviously.”

“Oh. If it floats your boat, nerd, go ahead.” She flashes him a quick thumb’s up to reassure that he can do whatever he wants. It’s his apartment, after all. Peter flushes slightly and reciprocates the awkward thumb’s up before stumbling out of the living room. He’s such a dork. She wishes that weren’t so endearing.

Michelle leans over and flips off the lamp, feeling cooler already as the blazing lightbulb stops burning her retinas. The windows have the curtains pulled back, but it doesn’t matter in the end. It’s a cloudy, dreary night, and there are no visible stars in the sky. She closes her eyes once more, darkness fading into pitch black, but her mind doesn’t shut down. No, there are too many things to worry about, too many thoughts keeping her away from sleep.

A half hour has probably passed by the time she hears Peter’s footsteps sound down the stairs and back into the living room. Michelle can tell that he pauses before coming back around to the front of the couch. A beat passes and then, much to her utmost surprise, she feels his lips brush lightly against her forehead. He doesn’t know that sleep hasn’t come to her yet, but there’s still that air of jitteriness she can practically sense.

As the other end of the couch dips under Peter’s weight, Michelle sorrowfully realizes that this is another thought that’s going to keep her up and thinking. Maybe he didn’t realize what he was doing. Maybe it was just a symbol of appreciation and nothing more. Maybe she’s just dreaming and none of it actually happened.

Those reasons make a painful amount of sense compared to what her heart wants to say. If only it’d just shut up.


	4. would you love me for the hell of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really need a schedule since these chapters just keep coming & coming

Michelle wakes up to the sight of a certain someone hanging upside-down from the ceiling in front of the staticky television and can’t help the short shriek that escapes her mouth. Peter, already decked out in his Iron-Spider suit, freaks out and ends up falling onto the ground. 

“What the hell, Peter?” Michelle exclaims, eyes wide as she sits up straight. He picks himself up off the floor and turns around sheepishly.

“God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think...so sorry. That was probably a really weird thing to wake up to,” he mumbles, chuckling awkwardly. She snorts in response and gives him a deadpan look.

“No, I’m very much used to seeing my best friend sitting on the ceiling in his fancy-shmancy spider suit first thing in the morning. In fact, I welcome it with open arms.” Her voice is so comically deadpan that Peter ends up cracking a smile. He comes over and sits down beside her on the couch.

“Now that you’re wide awake and in a very forgiving mood, I hope I can ask if you’ve slept okay without getting punched in the face,” Peter murmurs, tilting his head innocently. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Michelle nods, waving it off. “My head doesn’t really hurt anymore, so plus. And, uh, I don’t think I’d injure your face as much as I would injure my hand while trying to punch you, so you got off lucky.” She doesn’t tell him that she couldn’t fall asleep until nearly midnight and that the faces of the dead were haunting her dreams.

Peter nods enthusiastically and goes to stand up again. “Okay, well, I think I’m going to head out. I’ll be coming back...probably in the afternoon at some point through the window, so you don’t have to unlock the door. That’s unsafe, anyway.”

“Alright, loser. Be careful. I’ll try my hardest not to burn the apartment down or anything either. Text me if you need anything.” She pauses and then glances at the staticky television. “Did you break the TV?”

“Oh. No, it was like that when I turned it on. I don’t know what’s wrong...satellite probably stopped working or something.” He shrugs and moves over to the window, prying it open. The iron mask with oddly iridescent blue eyes materializes, covering his face. Peter looks back and gives her a quick two-fingered salute, which, _hey_, that’s her thing, before jumping out of the window.

Michelle lets out a silent sigh, realizing that now she’s completely alone with nothing to do. The whole day is going to be long and tedious. She stands up and shuffled over to the kitchen, hoping to find something for breakfast. However, her phone beeps from between the couch cushions, so she has to go back and fish for it, finding coins and crumbs as well. 

When she pulls it out, Michelle sees that it’s another government alert—this one being nationwide. That’s concerning, considering that would be the second one in two days. Her brows pinch as she reads it slowly, painful realization hitting. Michelle gets why the television isn’t working now.

Apparently, the ratio of humans to zombies is rapidly decreasing in the United States, meaning that more and more people are becoming infected. Like Michelle expected, putting New York in quarantine didn’t do shit to keep the disease from planting its seed all throughout the country, possibly even the world. There are some sources coming across her feed that say the virus is mutating, which is unimaginably horrible.

Because of the influx of zombies and the lack of people, power everywhere is starting to wane, dwindling electricity down for a lot of states. Certain news channels that the Parkers always used to watch are either being shut down or just cut from existence completely.

Michelle notes that the lights in the apartment still work and the fridge is still cold, which means power hasn’t been lost in the apartment. Yet. Who knows how long it’ll last for, but she’s going to start preparing for when the inevitable happens. She quickly plugs her phone in the charger and before scurrying over to the closet to find some flashlights. Surprise, surprise, they’re all lined up neatly on a shelf with brand new batteries, ready to go. It’s obvious that Michelle wasn’t the only one who likes to be prepared.

With a flashlight in hand just in case, Michelle walks back into the kitchen and pulls a bowl out of the cupboard. She figures if there isn’t anything else she can do at the moment, she might as well eat some of the stale cereal sitting in the pantry. Honestly, shame on Peter for not properly closing the boxes.

~~~

Michelle thinks that Peter couldn’t have worse timing. She’s been waiting for him for hours, because really, what else is she going to do? He said he’d be back in the afternoon, and it’s nearly five in the evening. So, after deciding that just sitting around isn’t doing any good, she went upstairs to stand under some warm water. It helps clear her head...kind of. All she thought about were the reasons why he’d still be out there.

But, of course, as soon as Michelle starts lathering herself in Peter’s generic men’s soap, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey, MJ? I’m back,” Peter’s hoarse voice speaks up, sounding a little rattled. “I’m assuming you’re taking a shower right now...because the water’s running and every other light is off. I just wanted to let you know—”

Michelle doesn’t let him finish his sentence as she wrenches the bathroom door open, having quickly gotten out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around her. There are still bubbles in her hair, dripping down her skin, but she didn’t feel like waiting. Peter gulps in surprise and takes a step back, giving Michelle a clear view of his face.

“You look like shit,” she openly tells him, curling her toes uncomfortably against the cool bathroom tiles. He swallows and seems to nod in agreement, visibly wincing as he does so. The Iron-Spider suit is still on his body, but his face is free of the mask, meaning she can see every bruise and scratch that decided to make an appearance. 

“I know. There were more zombies than I expected, and they were going after people...I tried to help as much as I could. Some of them are just, like, trapped in a web, but I still somehow got stuck in a horde...I didn’t expect them to be so strong. I think my ribs are a little bruised…”

“What? I thought that suit was supposed to protect you,” Michelle grinds out, pulling him back into the bathroom with her. “From what I can tell, it’s doing a pretty crappy job.”

“There will always be design flaws,” he mumbles, sitting on the bathtub ledge after Michelle urges him down. “This suit is bullet-proof and bite-proof, but there’s less padding and...yeah.”

“Alright, Parker. I’m going to clean you up a little bit—and yes, I know you heal on your own, but it’s for my benefit. You’re changing out of this after. I expect you to put on that nerd shirt that says something about telekinesis.”

“Oh, my god, I knew you loved that shirt,” Peter says with a feeble smile, ducking his head. “It’s my favorite one.”

“Ahem, head up, Peter,” she instructs briskly, crouching between his legs with one hand holding her towel and the other with a cotton ball doused in hydrogen peroxide. He mutters an apology and grimaces as she dabs lightly at his cuts. “Geez, were you asking people to use your face as a scratching pole or something?”

“No, it was just...I had to take off the mask to get this little girl to come with me. She lost her mom to a zombie, so we tried to find her dad and...it was not an easy process, let’s just say.”

“Well, I’m glad things worked out in the end. It looks like the bruises on your face are starting to heal, and the cuts won’t get infected now. If you’ll skedaddle out of here, I can finish my shower, and then maybe we can watch Star Wars on DVD if you want.” Michelle’s honestly surprised that their power has held out for this long, but she’s not complaining.

“Thanks, Em,” he exhales, a small smile gracing his features. “Are you just suggesting Star Wars out of pity?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Michelle gives him a lighthearted wink before standing up, because being between Peter’s legs with only a towel on was starting to make her face heat up. “Now get out of here, dork. I still have soap in my hair.”

~~~

Michelle, all squeaky clean, makes her way back into the living room and finds that Peter is setting up A Tale of Two Cities on the DVD player instead. She lightly clears her throat and gives him a questioning look.

“What happened to Star Wars?”

“I just figured that you’d like watching your favorite movie instead of that ‘cinematic space trash’,” Peter replies, using air quotes while glancing back at her with a soft grin. “Consider it a thank you for subjecting me to the burning of my open wounds under your care.”

“Wow. I do one nice thing and get rewarded with the best movie of all time. Maybe it’ll become a habit now,” Michelle muses, plopping herself onto the couch. Peter grabs the remote quickly before walking backwards to join her. She notices that there’s significantly less space between them than the previous night. It’s not important. Not if she doesn’t think about it.

“Yeah, if you can stand watching this movie so many times without getting tired of it,” he chuckles. Michelle’s about to claim that she’ll never get tired of such a masterpiece, but then Peter winces while trying to get comfortable and she frowns.

“Your ribs?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s not a big deal, really. Just a little twinge.” He’s trying to play it off, but she can see right through him.

“Can I see?” Michelle asks tentatively, raising an eyebrow. Peter swallows, his cheeks reddening a little, and then nods. He hikes up his telekinesis t-shirt, revealing splotches of what could be considered art if it weren’t decorating human flesh. The dark bruises are making it hard for Michelle not to cringe herself. “Geez, they step on you or something? That looks..._ouch_.”

“It...it’s a little ouch, yeah,” Peter agrees quietly. She purses her lips for a moment before standing up and waltzing into the kitchen. Once again, it’s a good thing that there’s still power in this apartment because she wouldn’t be able to pull out an ice pack if there wasn’t. Michelle takes it over to Peter, her lips quirking on one side. 

“You’re out of frozen vegetables. This will have to do.” She sits down and presses the ice to his abdomen, feeling the cold seep through both ways. Peter gasps softly and then leans his head back against the couch, his eyes fluttering shut. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re gonna fall asleep. I was hoping to have a movie-book discussion here about how monumentally genius Charles Dickens was.” Her tone is teasing, and he smiles sheepishly, cracking one eye open.

“If you want to talk about the movie adaptation compared to the book, I’ll listen. I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

“Well, now I just think you’re buttering me up to hold this here all night. It’s working, if you must know.” She repositions herself so that her head is resting against her arm that’s bent over the back of the couch while the other is keeping the ice pack secure.

“You don’t have to do that, by the way. I can hold it if you’re uncomfortable,” Pete offers, but Michelle shakes her head.

“Nah, you’ve done enough today. The least I can do is hold your ice pack.”

His smile is genuine and appreciative, she can tell. Peter drops his hand so that it falls atop her knee and squeezes gently, gratefully. Michelle can feel his touch burning through even the pants she’s wearing. It’s a dramatic contrast from the cold of the ice, which she chooses to focus on instead.

The screenplay of A Tale of Two Cities usually excites Michelle, but she can feel herself drifting off rather quickly, and with Peter’s breathing as an even sound to keep her heart steady, it’s a nice way to fall asleep.


	5. all our fears would be irrelevant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> schedule who?

Somehow, the schedule that they’ve adapted to ends up persisting through the rest of the week. Peter has left the apartment nearly every morning to help citizens deal with the onslaught on zombies while Michelle tries to keep up on the current news inside the apartment. It’s difficult without there being working news channels, but that’s what phones are for.

But the thing is, she’s _always_ inside the apartment, always staring down at the death and destruction rather than being in it. Michelle knows that most people would kill to be in her position now, safely tucked away in a corner of New York, but she feels too sheltered. 

And Peter, he _always_ comes home to her with more scratches and bruises. It’s tiring to see him limp around the room, occasionally wincing because he moved his leg wrong or jostled his shoulder. Of course, all of his wounds heal eventually, but that doesn’t make Michelle feel better when she’s the one cleaning him up. 

Today is no different. Peter has gone off to search for any surviving citizens that may need some help getting out of tricky situations while Michelle is sulking around the living room. She doesn’t remember when her last breath of fresh air was—probably before she climbed into this very apartment and that was it. 

It’s stuffy and a little suffocating if she’s being honest, being substantially trapped inside. Michelle makes a decision right then and there that she’s not going to let herself spend the rest of her day wallowing in the living room. The window that leads to the fire escape is right across from the couch—she only has to make a few big strides to go over and open it. 

Just because she can’t actually be down there in the fray doesn’t mean she can’t sit on the escape and let herself breathe for once. Her bare feet touch down on the slick metal, it being a little dewy after having just rained the night before. It feels nice outside, Michelle thinks, at least compared to the heat of the apartment. The beginning of springtime isn’t the warmest, which is just what she prefers.

Michelle sits with her back to the railing and stares at the sky rather than the ground. She doesn’t want to see the carnage. The dark, dreary clouds aren’t beautiful by any means but they feel more significant than the abundance of rotting corpses, which are so far spread that they’re starting to lose their magnitude.

She hears noises from her spot on the fire escape. Some are coming from other apartment windows. Michelle knows that there multiple people surviving next to them in the complex. But the specific noise that she hears is coming from inside their own apartment. Drawers sound like they’re being opened and shut. Cabinets being rifled through and then slammed. It’s alarming.

Obviously, whoever’s inside isn’t Peter. He wouldn’t come through the front door, which Michelle can see if she strains her neck. It’s cracked open, seemingly having been unlocked from the outside. She knows that it isn’t a smart idea to go back in, but this person will find her on the escape eventually when passing through the living room. They could kill her on the spot. It’s better if she uses the element of surprise instead to find out what’s going on.

Michelle slowly clambers back inside the window and clicks the door shut before sneaking her way towards the kitchen. That’s where the ruckus is originating from. For once, the floors under her don’t squeak. Maybe being quiet isn’t such an impossibility.

She edges a little closer to the wall and prepares to listen for whoever’s in there, but unfortunately, it’s gone silent. Weird. Michelle spontaneously decides to take a risk and peeks inside, which, yeah, big mistake. Never, never doing that again.

Somehow, Michelle finds her forearm dripping blood by the end of it. The girl in front of her, breathing heavily, looks a little surprised. She has one of the kitchen knives in her hand.

“What the _fuck_?” Michelle hisses, immediately grabbing the dish towel to soak up the bleeding. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“I thought you were a zombie. My apologies,” the girl replies, glancing at her injured arm. The thing is, her expression is kind of smug, and Michelle isn’t really a fan. “Geez, I got you good, huh?”

“No shit. Get out of my apartment.” Her arm is starting to sting now, and it’s really bringing down her mood.

“Okay, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone actually still lived here, considering, like, everyone’s dying? I just needed some food, ran out yesterday. Every other apartment that I’ve checked is bare to the bones, and yours happened not to be,” she explains, fiddling with her platinum hair that’s tied into a ponytail. 

“How did you get in?”

“It’s not that hard to pick locks, you know. Especially when you’re desperate.” The girl shrugs, crossing her arms in a slightly defensive manner. Michelle sighs in return and starts rifling around the drawers for some first aid. She ends up finding a roll of gauze, and much to her surprise, Blondie offers to help. “Let me wrap your arm for you. It’s the least I can do for slicing it to hell.”

“Why do I think you don’t really mean that?” Michelle responds skeptically, raising an eyebrow. 

“Fine. The name’s Felicia. You want a backstory to go along with it? I’ve been surviving on my own for a long time, a lone wolf kinda gal, and it’s been working out up until the zombies started flooding in. Now, I can defend myself, obviously, but it’s different when they’re flooding the streets. Supplies are starting to run out, and I’ve got experience in breaking into places, so that’s why I came here. All I need is some food. I’ll bandage your arm in return, believe me.”

“How gracious of you.” She can’t help but roll her eyes. “We have food. It’s not much and all really stale and gross. But since you’re desperate, I think it’ll do.”

“We? I only see one of you,” Felicia points out, her tone tinged with curiosity.

“He’s not here right now,” is all she mutters, tossing Felicia the roll of bandages, who flimsily catches them while keeping her eyes on Michelle. “You want some cereal and crusty bread? I’ll throw in a water bottle or two as well.”

“Whatever you have that won’t give me food poisoning, I’ll take it.”

Michelle goes over to the pantry and picks out her least favorite box of cereal—Raisin Bran—along with a loaf of bread that’s been sitting on the counter for who knows how long. She throws the items into a plastic bag and adds a few bottles of water before tying it up. 

“One bag of disgusting food to keep you alive at your request,” Michelle quips, plonking it onto the counter. Felicia gives her a tight smile in response and nods.

“Thanks. Believe it or not, I actually appreciate it.” She slowly approaches Michelle and lifts the dish towel off her arm. “Guess I should stop you from bleeding out, huh.” Felicia starts unwinding the gauze and starts to wrap it around the sliced skin, a little too tightly in Michelle’s opinion.

“Are you trying to cut off my circulation?” She huffs, flexing her fingers a little.

“I’m _trying_ to make sure it’s tight enough so that your blood can clot properly, stop being such a baby,” Felicia snorts. Michelle bites her tongue as she finishes up and then pulls away once it’s done. “It’s probably not even that painful. Grow a pair, will you?”

“I’m sorry, the next time someone breaks into _your_ shelter and slashes _your_ arm out of self-defense, let me know if it feels like a bucket of sunshine and rainbows, okay?” Michelle retorts, her tone full of saccharine sarcasm. 

“I just have a high pain tolerance,” she shrugs and then glances around the kitchen once more before grabbing the bag on the counter. “I should get out of here. Honestly, so should you. Staying in one place isn’t how you survive. You’ll run out of supplies eventually and won’t have anywhere else to go. And, aside from that, New York is an absolute shit-storm already.”

“I’ll take that under consideration. Thanks.” And much to her own surprise, Michelle’s tone is sincere. She may not especially like Felicia, per se—they definitely could've met under better circumstances, but they’re all just trying to live through this and any advice is appreciated. “If I ever see you around again...you can call me MJ.”

“Finally squeezed a name out of you,” Felicia smirks and shoots her a little wink. “See you on the flip side, then, MJ.” 

Before Michelle can even react, Felicia walks over to a window and pushes it open, which happens to be probably about thirty feet above the ground. The Parkers’ apartment is only on the third floor, after all. But, somehow, she clambers out of the window without there being a fire escape and manages to land on two feet after jumping down. Michelle can only stare down in shock as Felicia sprints down the street, expertly dodging the zombies that emerge from alleys and abandoned buildings. 

The adrenaline of having encountered another survivor in the least conventional way possible is starting to fade, and Michelle realizes that there are droplets of red on the floor and a blood-soaked dish towel still sitting on the counter. She wouldn’t want to leave that there.

But, unfortunately, luck just isn’t on her side, because the second that Michelle goes to grab a sponge from under the sink, she hears a click and then everything goes silent. Literally, everything. The fridge isn’t running anymore, and the buzzing of the lightbulbs cut off. When she peers out the window, it seems like the entire street lost power at the same time. _Great_.

~~~

Michelle had ditched the idea of cleaning up the kitchen about two hours ago and decided to just go upstairs, took a quick shower with only a flashlight illuminating everything, and then crawled into the bottom bunk of Peter’s bed. There’s hardly any natural light due to the absence of the sun and darkening clouds, but at least she won’t have to feel as paranoid about someone else breaking inside.

The bandage on her arm already feels disgusting and there’s too much blood staining it, but changing it is a hassle and Michelle doubts she can do it properly by herself. It still stings fairly bad and the shower didn’t help much in that regard, but at least she won’t get an infection. Hopefully.

Since there’s no real way to check the time now, considering all of Peter’s clocks are digital and her phone is nearly dead, Michelle isn’t positive how long she’s lying in bed. She can’t get comfortable, that’s for sure. It gets too hot and then too cold, which has her throwing blankets on and off. She usually lies on her left side, but that hurts her arm, so Michelle is subjected to her back, staring at the bottom of the top bunk. 

Michelle stares at the plain fabric for so long that her eyes begin to sting from not blinking. She didn’t realize that she was starting to blank out, not until her name is being called.

“MJ?” His voice sounded distant at first, like a faint ringing in her ears. Honestly, it feels like a surreal dream but then it gets louder. “Em?” There’s a pounding that seems like footsteps coming upstairs. “Michelle?” The door to his bedroom swings open, and Peter barges in, his gaze immediately falling to her. “There you are.” 

“Here I am,” she mumbles, glancing over at him. Peter doesn’t look nearly as bad as he usually does after returning from his runs, but he’s always wearing an expression of apprehension. Wariness. It’s no different this time, but maybe seems more fidgety. More anxious. Distressed, even? 

“Okay, I’m not going to jump to conclusions, because that’s stupid, and I’m probably wrong, anyway,” Peter begins, laughing a little off-kilter, a little too shakily. “But the power’s gone out, there’s blood on the ground in the kitchen, and I really don’t know what happened while I wasn’t here. Just tell me that you’re okay.”

“Define okay. Because I’m definitely not feeling swell at the moment,” Michelle sighs, sitting upright. 

“Wait, what is that? What happened to your arm?” He’s by her side in an instant, already pulling her bandaged limb up close for an inspection. Peter’s eyes flit worriedly across the bloodied gauze before finally looking up to meet her gaze. “As long as you say that this isn’t a bite, then I’ll be fine.”

“Relax, it’s not a bite,” she assures him, and he nods, evidently losing some of the tension racked up in his shoulders. “There, uh...there was a girl who broke in. I kind of snuck up on her, she thought I was a zombie, blah, blah, blah, you see the end result. I got slashed by a kitchen knife, that’s all.”

“What?” Peter’s brows pinch in shock, and Michelle isn’t all that blind to the angry fire dancing behind his eyes. “Elaborate please.” His jaw ticks.

“She just needed some food and thought this apartment was abandoned like the rest of them. The knife thing was an honest mistake, I guess. I gave her some food, she bandaged me up and then got out of my hair. Really, it wasn’t all that big of a deal.”

“She could’ve patched you up a little better at least,” Peter scoffs, clearly displeased by the turn of events. 

“I’ve had it on for a while. It needs changed, anyway.”

“Will you let me?”

Michelle holds her breath for a split-second and then nods. Peter stands up and guides her back to the bathroom, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides. He’s still in his suit, too, which is also kind of distracting. Maybe in a good way, though. She takes a seat on the tub ledge while Peter fishes out some more gauze from the medicine cabinet.

“It’s weird. Usually, I do this for you,” she muses quietly. Peter kneels in front of her, lightly running his fingers against the bandage. It hurts a little. “Ouch.”

“I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes and begins unwrapping her arm slowly. “I’d feel better if it were the other way around. Not that I don’t like taking care of you but—” Peter takes a deep breath and his voice softens. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt like this.”

“You think I like you coming home with bruised ribs and a bloody face?” 

“It’s different.” Right, because he can heal, and she can’t—at least not within such short intervals of time. One of the many disadvantages of not being superhuman. Peter’s face falls when the bandage comes off, revealing a bloodied mess underneath it all. “Shit, Em.”

“We didn’t clean it or anything, which might’ve been a mistake, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. I was a little desperate to not have to look at it,” Michelle tells him, biting the inside of her cheek. “I don’t think it’s that bad, though. It was one clean cut. The blood just smeared a little.”

“I’ll wash it off for you. It’s going to sting some more, but I’ll be quick,” Peter promises and grabs a washcloth from the sink, running it under some cold water. He starts dabbing it along her skin, and she continuously chews on her cheek to keep from wincing in pain. He then uses some hydrogen peroxide to make sure it doesn’t get infected for real. That doesn’t feel the nicest, either.

“How was it outside today?” She asks, mainly to keep her mind off her injury.

“Uh, it wasn’t bad...at least compared to the beginning of the week. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that there were less people that needed help...I’m not sure where they went or if they’re even...you know.” He starts pulling at the new gauze, twirling it around her arm bit by bit. “I don’t think I’ll be going out tomorrow.”

“Oh, really? How come?”

“Well, for one, I doubt that many people will need saved. There are hardly any left. And, two, I said I wouldn’t be gone all of the time, didn’t I? Besides...after today, I don’t think I’d feel comfortable leaving you, anyway,” Peter admits, his lashes fluttering rapidly as he keeps his gaze locked on her arm.

“You’re not going to start babysitting me, are you?” Michelle frowns, raising an eyebrow. Peter fervently shakes his head while finishing up the bandaging. 

“No. No, it’s for my benefit, mostly. I just...like the reassurance.” He pauses and then offers her a wry smile. “Plus, with no power, you’ll be bored out of your mind.”

“You don’t think I’ll be bored with you?” She snorts in amusement, and Peter chuckles in response before standing. He offers her a hand to get up, and even though Michelle doesn’t need to, she allows herself to take it. His iron-clad fingers are cool against her own, which is a nice contrast to the warmth she always feels when coming in contact with him. 

“Don’t lie, you’re never bored with me,” he teases, a smug grin stretching across his lips. Michelle rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder lightly. 

“You’re incorrigible, Parker. How is it that I got stuck with you during the end of the world?” Her lips are curled into a small smile to lighten her words, and Peter’s eyes brighten mischievously.

“Would you rather be stuck with Flash? I hear he’s still posting on his Instagram stories somewhere in Spain.”

“Uh, no, thank you. I’m not saying you’re, like, cool or anything, but I don’t think Flash and I would...take care of each other the way we do,” Michelle hums, flicking a curl out of her eyes to look at Peter. “We wouldn’t be much of a team.”

“And us? Do you think we’re a good team?” Peter asks, his eyes a little wider than usual and a pink hue to his cheeks. There’s a shyness to his aura that Michelle can detect since she’s basically scrutinizing him.

“Oh, Peter. We’re the best.”

~~~

Michelle finds herself back in Peter’s bottom bunk with her nose buried in one of the few good books that are lying around his bedroom—this one being _Circe_, and a secondhand copy at that. She’s reading by the light of the window, which is hardly anything, so it feels like a pretty big strain on her eyes. Michelle doesn’t want to waste the flashlight’s battery life, though, so it’ll have to make do. She’s nearly on the third chapter after only ten minutes, because honestly, books containing Greek mythology are her Achilles’ heel. Hah.

Peter emerges from the bathroom a moment later, and Michelle’s glad that she can’t see a damn thing, because it would be a lot harder to ignore the stretch of his muscles as he tugs on a t-shirt. However, she does notice how his damp curls are swooped across his forehead after having just been washed, which only has her pulling the book closer to her face.

“I’m surprised you didn’t slip in there without a flashlight. Dork,” she musters, her voice a little muffled from being suffocated between the pages. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” Peter exhales with a smile, pushing his hair back. “I dunno, my eyesight is pretty good, even in the dark.”

“Not fair that you can see better when it’s pitch-black than I can when there are lights on.” Michelle sighs over-exaggeratedly as he comes over to peer at what she’s reading. 

“You’re reading..._Circe_? Wait, what?” Peter seems a little confused, which makes Michelle confused in return.

“Yeah…? What’s the big deal, nerd? I didn’t dig too hard to find it or anything, so your secret stash of memorabilia you have of the Hulk or whatever is still safe,” she tells him, raising an eyebrow.

“No, it’s just...I honest to god thought I lost that book years ago,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was supposed to be a birthday present, but I suck at keeping my room clean and couldn’t find it.”

“Oh. Well, it was under your bed with a bunch of other crap that I just left there but shoved way in the back, so no wonder you didn’t find it.” Michelle pauses and then marks her page with the book jacket. One of the many reasons she loves hardcovers is that there’s no need for the sinful dog-earing corners. The mere thought of that makes her cringe. “Do you want it back or…?”

“Uh—no, no! It’s, uhm, it’s actually yours. Happy...belated birthday by a couple of years,” Peter stammers, averting his eyes. 

“Hold on, you got this for me?”

“Yeah. It was that year when I got you a really crappy gift...you know, that homemade coupon book of, like, friend things that I could do for you. It was originally supposed to be _Circe_. I’m sorry I lost it.”

“Don’t apologize. As much as I like this book because it matches my tastes perfectly—which, well done, Parker, you really know me—I loved that coupon book. I don’t mean to be all sentimental or anything, but homemade things to me are really sweet. You put time into making it, so of course I’ll enjoy it.” She clears her throat to make sure her words don’t sound too deep, even though they’re all the truth.

“Okay. Okay, cool,” he says, nodding vehemently with a slow grin. “Hey, you should read to me.”

“You want to be read to?”

“Well, I’m sure that if you like the book, then it must be really good, and...I dunno. I guess I just like hearing your voice,” Peter shrugs, reddening a little in the dark. Michelle bites her lip to keep from grinning back and merely nods, patting the empty space next to her. He hops onto the bunk with ease and wiggles himself under the comforter, though he keeps his eyes open to watch her with a sleepy yet content smile.

“‘_From her bridal dais Pasiphaë glowed lush as ripe fruit. Her skin was gold, and her hair the color of sun on polished bronze. Around her crowded a hundred eager nymphs, each more desperate than the last to tell her how beautiful she looked_…’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is appreciated ,’)


	6. the sky'd be falling and i'd hold you tight

Michelle wakes up the next morning with a crick in her neck and hair sticking annoyingly to her cheek. _Circe_ is lying abandoned by her feet after having been read for another half-hour late at night, but she was getting tired, and while she does adore the book, there’s only so much Michelle can read about unrequited love.

Somehow, it didn’t take Peter nearly as long to fall asleep last night as it did for Michelle, and yet, she’s awake before he is. Her arm was hurting, though, and she definitely heard some trash cans being knocked over outside, which both contributed to startling her out of a rare, dreamless sleep.

She would love to go to the bathroom right about now, maybe clean the gash on her arm and use the toilet or something, but she can’t very well get out of the bed. Peter’s sprawled out to the right of her, and Michelle’s closest to the wall. There isn’t much room between them to begin with, being that they’re sleeping in a tiny bunk that’s not supposed to rest two teenagers.

Waking him up would probably be the smartest way to go, but Peter looks more peaceful in his sleep than any other time, and Michelle can’t bring herself to break him out of that. Instead, she makes the reckless decision to try crawling over him to get out of bed, which goes as anyone would imagine.

The first wrong move Michelle makes is hitting her head against the top bunk after stupidly misjudging how much she can sit up while attempting to get one leg on the floor. Her mouth emits a curse before she gives it permission to, which in turn has Peter automatically shooting up in alarm, and boom. Their foreheads clash painfully.

“Aw, shit,” he mutters, exhaling out a painful breath. Michelle glares at him in response and rubs her forehead fervently, like that’s going to make a difference. Not to mention the top of her head is still throbbing.

“This would’ve gone a lot smoother if you hadn’t woken up.”

“You’re the one who woke me up!”

“It’s not my fault that the manufacturers didn’t think of lanky teenagers when this bed was poorly designed,” Michelle defends, gesturing to the top bunk in annoyance. “Not all of us can be as short as you, Parker.”

“Hey, I’m not even that short! You’re just ridiculously tall,” Peter frowns, pouting ever so slightly. She rolls her eyes and then dumb realization hits her that she’s practically straddling his lap right about now. Actually, it seems to hit them both at the same time. “Um…”

Michelle’s cheeks are heating up much too early in the morning. It feels wrong to be this intimately close to Peter, especially because Gwen’s picture is sitting on his nightstand, burning holes into her head. _Get away, get away, get away_.

“Yeah, I should…” She jabs her thumb in the direction of the bathroom while hastily pulling her right leg over Peter’s lap before the other is even firmly on the ground. Rookie mistake as Michelle topples onto her ass. “I’m having a bad morning, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Peter smirks, clambering out of bed to help pick her up off the floor. “Try not to hurt yourself again.”

“Whatever, loser,” Michelle huffs, taking great interest in the carpet as he scrutinizes her from head to toe. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go pee.” She skirts around him and locks herself in the bathroom, because damn it, she needs a breather.

~~~

“Parker,” Michelle calls out as she descends down the stairs, and he responds briefly with ‘_kitchen_’. She strolls over to find him leaning with his elbows on the counter, his eyes scanning the streets below through the window. Figures that even when he’s not on superhero duty, he’s still not letting himself off the hook. She could use this to her advantage, actually. “So, I have a proposition.”

“Yeah?” Peter turns around, wearing an inquisitive look and one of his eyebrows arches. “What’s up?”

“I know you said you aren’t going to go out today, but I would like to go out.” She ignores the way his expression falls into one of dismay and continues. “Listen, I’ve been inside for five days in a row now, and I’m tired of staring at these walls hour after hour. I need to not be confined in this apartment, even for a little bit.”

“I don’t know, MJ,” he frowns, arms crossed, already shaking his head like he’s made a decision for her. “It’s not safe out there, you know that.”

“Judging by yesterday, it’s not safe _inside_ either,” she argues, gesturing to her freshly bandaged arm. “Look, I brought this up to you, but I’m not actually asking for your permission. I just figured that you’d want to accompany me, considering you can’t go one second without making sure that everyone’s fucking alive.” It’s harsh, but she’s not lying. He’s got such a hero complex—it’s as admirable as it is tiring. And Michelle so desperately wants to leave. 

“You want to go down there? Down where it’s so bare of human life that it’s sad? You know how many people I’ve seen get killed on those streets, Michelle?” Peter grits out, a sharper tone than usual coloring his voice.

“We’re stuck in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, Peter, of course I know people are dying.” She sucks in a breath before continuing. “I just want to go outside. It doesn’t have to be on the streets. Hell, I’ll take a roof.”

Michelle can tell that Peter’s resolve is breaking due to the fact that he’s jiggling his leg and uncrossing his arms. What makes her break into a relieved smile, though, is the relenting sigh he finally releases.

“Yeah, okay. We can chill on a roof today, if that’s what you want.”

“Great! I’ll bring this just in case,” she says and whips one of the kitchen knives out of its stand. They’re like her weapon of choice. 

“Of course you will.”

~~~

“I didn’t expect it to be this windy today,” Michelle speaks up, her voice being carried away from Peter as he sets her down on the roof closest to the apartment. It’s a tall office building, which means she can see a whole hell of a lot more. 

“Yeah, me neither,” he replies, his mask retracting from his face as he goes to web the door shut that’s for roof access. 

“It feels really nice.” She stands with her body facing the wind so that instead of hair blowing into her face, it’s blowing behind her. “I’ve missed being outside a surprising amount, considering I used to be such a hermit.”

“You know what they say. You don’t truly appreciate what you have until you lose it,” Peter quips, moving to sit with his feet dangling off the building. He looks up at Michelle with a wry smile and pats the spot next to him.

“Nuh-uh, no. I don’t want to risk dying by falling off a building, thank you,” Michelle immediately declines, shaking her head vehemently. Peter pouts, though he still looks amused.

“You suggested coming onto a roof, and yet you’re not indulging in the thrill of sitting like this?”

“Maybe I’m afraid that you’re gonna push me off,” she sniffs, crossing her arms.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he frowns, offended, and Michelle relents at the sight, because she was obviously just joking. She kneels down first and then sweeps her legs out in front of her so that they’re hovering eight storeys above solid ground.

“I know. Doesn’t mean the wind won’t knock me over,” Michelle muses, lightly nudging his shoulder with hers. The bare skin of her arm in contact with the metal of his suit makes her smile go crooked, because geez, it’s cold.

“If it does, I’ll catch you,” Peter responds, his grin contagious. 

“Yeah, right, slowpoke.” She chuckles at his once again offended—though slightly less so than before—expression and then goes to pull her bag off her back. Inside is the knife she insisted on bringing, along with _Circe_, because why not? 

Peter’s eyes brighten at the sight, and he leans his head on her shoulder as she sets the book open on her lap so they can both read it. His curls tickle her cheek, but Michelle somehow finds it easier to relax. Maybe it’s the wind. Maybe it’s being outside. Maybe it’s their knees knocking together as they both lean inward to read.

They remain like that for an extended period of time. Michelle realizes that after they reach the ¾ mark of the book, this couple of hours just sitting on top of a building and reading has been the highlight of her life since the beginning of the contagious death. It’s been peaceful, though obviously not meant to last forever, judging by the way Peter’s tensed against her.

“Something’s wrong. I can sense it,” he tells her quietly, looking around them.

“Wait, up here?”

“No. It’s…” Peter presses his lips together as his gaze locked onto something—someone in the distance, trying to fight off a crowd of about five zombies who are refusing to show mercy. They’re trapping her along the side of an abandoned car, and she only manages to crawl onto the roof after taking an umbrella to a few of their heads. “I should…”

“Yeah. Help her. I’ll be fine up here,” Michelle nods, giving him a reassuring look as he seems a little torn. “Hurry. They can pull her off if they try hard enough.”

Peter finally nods and jumps off the building, swinging with his webs in the woman’s direction. Michelle’s gaze follows after him for a moment before she stands up to stretch and then walks back to the roof entrance. It’s no shock that she’s tired, because that seems like a constant these days, but she’s getting a little chilly as well. She slides down the wall of the entrance and leans her head back against the metal all while pulling her knees to her chest, hugging them. 

Michelle knows falling asleep anywhere but their apartment is risky, but her eyes are drooping, begging to close. She isn’t sure how many moments more it would’ve taken to drift into the throes of unconsciousness, though, because soon thereafter, voices oh-so abruptly interrupt the silent whistle of the wind.

“I didn’t need your help by the way, Spider. I’m not some fucking damsel in distress. Don’t treat me as anything less than a bitch that can and will claw your eyes out.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, geez. I’d forgotten how violent you are, Cat. It’s a little unnecessary in this situation, just saying. I saw you down there, and it looked like you were performing your own rendition of Umbrella. Hold on a minute.” A beat passes, and then Michelle finds her eyes drifting open when iron-clad fingers brush against her cheek. Peter’s kneeling there, eyebrows pinched in concern. It seems to be his default setting, she notes. “You’re freezing, Michelle.”

“Wow, I couldn’t even tell,” she utters, using the wall she’s leaning on the help her stand. “Can’t control the weather, can you?”

“Here, I have a heater in my suit—”

“Oh, hell no, your suit is made of metal, and metal isn’t warm in this temperature,” Michelle begins to say, shaking her head, but Peter clearly doesn’t heed her words, given that his outstretched arms tuck her into his body, and wow, heat. “Well, shit. I’m mistaken, it seems.”

“Told you,” he responds, his voice muffled by her t-shirt, which she regrets wearing. Michelle rolls her eyes and starts rubbing her hands together so the warming process speeds up, but then someone clearing their throat interrupts that. She nearly forgot that they’ve got a guest.

Michelle lets her eyes flick up to the origin on the sound and nearly curses, because standing there in smug glory is Felicia. What are the chances? She looks quite amused but it’s hard to tell with that smirk.

“Long time, no see, MJ,” she muses, wiggling her fingers.

“Wait, what?” Peter’s head whips up and looks between the two of them in bewilderment. “You know each other?”

“Yeah,” Michelle exhales, her lips pressed together. They feel dry and cracked. “We met yesterday.”

“But no hard feelings, right?” Felicia coos, stretching her mouth into a grin. Other than the bits of splattered blood, she looks exactly the same as the previous day, but her hood is pulled up over her long platinum locks, which is why Michelle didn’t immediately recognize her down in the street. 

“Wait,” Peter repeats, his voice a little tenser than before as he stares at Michelle. “Yesterday? Yesterday, as in when you got that huge cut on your arm because someone broke in?”

Before she can even get any words in, Felicia pipes up again, her tone a little miffed. “How the hell was I supposed to know I broke into your girlfriend’s apartment? Or that she wasn’t one of the fucking undead?”

Peter momentarily turns around, leaving Michelle in the cold again as he faces the woman in question. “That doesn’t—_god_, Felicia, you’ve always been like this, you know? Always acting before you think. It’s not the first time people have gotten hurt because of it, remember?”

“Hold up,” Michelle cuts in, narrowing her eyes, because how had she not known that Peter was so familiar with this girl? “One, I’m not his girlfriend. And, two, how do you guys know each other? Why does she know your identity, Peter?”

“She found out by accident,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “I was just on patrol—”

“And a Black Cat happened to cross his path,” Felicia butts in, her eyes sparkling with an unidentifiable emotion. 

“You’re the Black Cat? Why—god, why am I not even a little surprised?” Michelle mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ve seen you on the news before.” But never her and Spider-Man together on the news, which is odd, because the Daily Bugle always used to catch everything. 

“It was during junior year. We started working together after she stopped acting like a criminal and stealing from all over the place,” Peter continues, rolling his eyes. Felicia mutters something under her breath but Michelle doesn’t catch it. That’s probably a good thing. “And then she went off the radar, so that was that.”

“Don’t lie, Spider, I left you a note.”

“Yeah, a vague note. But, whatever, you’re back now.”

“Yeah, I am,” she hums, smiling smugly. “Miss me?”

“Could you two shut up for one minute?” Michelle interrupts, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Peter seems to realize that he took his warmth with him, but when he reaches for her again, she swats his hands away. “Stop, I’m fine. I’m also a little confused as to why you’ve never told me and Ned about your little rendezvousing with the fucking Black Cat, considering we always waited in your room to make sure you were okay—” She sends Peter a brief glare, and he has the decency to look apologetic. “But whatever. Can we just get off the roof already? I’ve had my share of fresh air. Let’s go home.”

“I call shotgun,” Felicia says, making Michelle turn around to give her a bewildered look, because no, she’s not coming. “What? Peter so graciously invited me to room with you guys until I’m able to get in contact with the refugees in Washington D.C. That’ll be my next stop.”

Michelle stares at her in utter confusion and disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“Wait, Em, let me explain,” Peter tries, noticing the emotion that’s so easily conveyed on her face, but she rounds on him.

“You didn’t think to even consult me about this? What, you expected me to be comfortable living in the same place as someone who’s practically a criminal—whose literal cat-like reflexes did this to me?” She gestures to her arm wildly for emphasis. “You may trust this woman, Peter, but I sure as hell do not.”

“Ouch, Em. I thought we were becoming friends,” Felicia chuckles but doesn’t seem overly enthused about anything.

“Okay, one, don’t call me that. And two, that was before I knew you were an infamous burglar,” Michelle exhales slowly and then glances at Peter. “I get that you’re just being a nice guy, always trying to help everyone out, but right now, I don’t really appreciate your efforts.”

“Wait, shit, MJ. I’m sorry, I know that I shouldn’t have offered without asking you first, but please don’t be mad,” Peter pleads, a hard frown tugging at his features.

“I’m not mad. Frankly, I’m just tired and disappointed and a little annoyed. We were supposed to be a good team, Parker.” Michelle finishes off with a wry half-smile, ignoring the bored look Felicia is currently sporting, before picking up her bag. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes flitting across her face a little desperately.

“Don’t apologize. You’re doing what you think is right.” She pauses and then shakes her head, figuring that she’ll sound more selfish than she already does by continuing. “I’m ready to go back whenever you are.”

“You two sort out your teamwork problems on the way over, and I’ll wait until you return, Spider,” Felicia pipes up.

“Shut up, Felicia,” Peter mutters, already stepping towards Michelle to pick her up for the lift. She feels less comfortable this time around, even as their curls tangle together, especially as she feels his breath ghost upon her cheek. Maybe time alone will help settle her thoughts.

~~~

Michelle thought she knew what it felt like to be hurt—and, yeah, she definitely had been in the past, maybe even more so than right now. It shouldn’t even be a big deal. All Peter’s doing is trying to help as many people as he can right now—Felicia just happens to be one of them. 

Sure, he never told her that he’s known the woman who dressed up as the Black Cat a couple years ago—prancing around New York with sticky fingers. She was a well-known criminal that Michelle had seen on the news more than once, one that liked to steal from various shops and houses. Though, she’d never witnessed Spider-Man and Black Cat interacting over the news at all, so it had been kept a well-guarded secret. Whatever. People are entitled to secrets, even your best friends. It’s fine.

That’s not even the part that really bugs her. Michelle just can’t drop the fact that Peter had offered Felicia a place in their lives—their refuge—without a second thought, without thinking about how she’d react. It’s really not fair how she didn’t get a say in anything. 

Michelle supposes that Peter wouldn’t know about how uncomfortable she’d feel with rooming with a stranger with violent tendencies. He hadn’t known how Felicia had hurt her before—whether it be accidental or not. That doesn’t mean she’s going to automatically trust the girl which he probably expects. Michelle is not friends with Felicia like Peter is. 

But even after all the information has been laid out in the open, it’s too late. Felicia’s going to be staying with them for who knows how long, and Michelle just has to deal with it. Peter would never kick her out on the zombie-infested streets, anyway, even if it was his best friend who asked. 

So, yeah, maybe she’s got the rotten end of the deal. There’s nothing Michelle can do about it except hold a grudge.

At the moment, she’s currently settled on the living room couch, flicking through the pages of _Circe_ in record time. The book is nearly done and over with, much to her disappointment, but she doesn’t manage to finish it. Not when Felicia struts in the room in only one of Peter’s t-shirts, which looks big and baggy on her. It’s the telekinesis one, of all things.

“Whatcha reading?” Felicia coos, peering over Michelle’s shoulder to skim the page she’s on. “Greek mythology? I was never really into that. Always seemed like a dull topic to me.” She lets out an uninterested exhale, and Michelle slowly looks up to narrow her eyes at the girl, because her hair is dripping water onto the pages.

“I know hairdryers aren’t available these days, but there are these things called towels,” she states slowly and firmly. “Stop getting my book wet.”

“Oh, you’re one of those people? Never would’ve guessed that you were stuck-up by first impressions alone,” she snorts, rolling her eyes. “It’s just paper, chill out.”

“Don’t pretend like you know me, Felicia,” Michelle responds calmly, shutting her book. “It might be just paper to you, but if it isn’t clear by now, we don’t really have that much in common, huh? And, please, put on some damn pants, will you?”

“Why, are my legs distracting you?” Felicia smirks, twirling one of Michelle’s curls around her finger.

“No, it’s really more of you as a whole that’s distracting. And, honestly, this thing you’ve got going on...this ‘_I’m better than you_’ vibe that you’re sending out isn’t all that great. It’s making it difficult to like you.”

“Don’t lie, kitty, you’ve never really liked me from the start.”

“You’re not wrong, but now that I have to tolerate you, it’s quite a bit harder,” she mutters. “What happened to ‘_staying in one place isn’t how you survive_’?”

“That only applies when you’ve got to constantly look over your own shoulder—when you’re all alone. As much as you may not like that I’m here, and as much as I don’t act like it, I’m grateful Peter took pity on me. I needed a breather.”

“Well, be glad that it was just him who made the choice. If it were me, you might’ve just gotten more cereal and water for the road,” Michelle says, her tone monotonous, before she stands up and walks out. 

The walk upstairs is slow and dreadful, but only because she didn’t realize Peter was already asleep on his bed. Not wanting to wake him, Michelle turns away and heads into the guest room. Maybe this is where Felicia had planned to sleep, but it doesn’t matter at this point. 

Her arm feels like it’s throbbing a bit by the time she collapses onto the bed, and the air has no circulation. It’s dry and stuffy, and her eyes are burning a little. Michelle doubts she’s going to get a good night’s sleep, but hell, she’ll try for one, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? <3


	7. and there wouldn’t be a reason why

When Michelle wakes up, it’s because there’s bleeding through her bandages. Something must’ve shifted through the night, but her arm feels more sore than it had the previous day. 

The door to the guest bedroom is closed, which she doesn’t recall it being that way last night. Not to mention Michelle’s tangled up in a blanket she doesn’t remember covering herself with. She kicks it off in annoyance, because while it may have been cool during the night, it’s almost suffocating now.

Michelle slips out of bed and goes into the hallway bathroom, hoping to find some clean bandages. There’s a roll under the sink, but it’s not going to be easy to clean and redress her wound alone. Still, she’s going to have to try because asking either of the two people that are currently laughing downstairs doesn’t feel like an option.

She unravels her arm quickly and runs it under the cool faucet water, unable to suppress a wince when it comes in contact. After drying off, Michelle then starts wrapping the clean roll of bandages around it, only with a little bit of difficulty. In the end, it may not look pretty, but it’s better than it was before. It’s also better than asking for help.

Michelle starts making her way downstairs and goes to walk past the dining table where Peter and Felicia are seated, pretty engrossed in a conversation that halts when she passes. He waves his hand in greeting, to which she merely raises an eyebrow, unamused.

“Hey, MJ,” Peter chirps, his voice light and his eyes hopeful, like maybe she had forgotten about their little tiff the previous day. Not the case, but she doesn’t want to come off as blatantly rude and ignore him.

“‘Sup,” Michelle responds blandly, flashing a peace sign before retreating into the kitchen.

“Hey, MJ!” Felicia calls out in the same tone as Peter, but she definitely doesn’t mean it. If there are any sincere bones in that girl, they’re very scarce. Michelle simply doesn’t respond and busies herself by pouring a bowl of stale Cheerios. There isn’t any milk that wouldn’t be spoiled by now, but that doesn’t matter, seeing as she never really liked soggy cereal, anyway.

When Michelle’s content with her idea of breakfast, even though it could be noon for all anyone knows, she leaves the kitchen and has to walk past the dining table again. This time, Peter stands up and starts to approach her.

“Hey. I, uh...where are you going?”

“I’m going to eat on the fire escape. No, I’m not looking for company,” she quickly responds, giving him a quick glance. Peter’s face falls into disappointment, which he tries to mask with a weak smile.

“Are you sure? I could—”

“I’m sure, Parker.”

“Oh. Okay. I, uhm...I guess just be careful out there,” he mumbles, flinching when Felicia harshly pokes him on the shoulder. She leans down to whisper in his ear, too low for anyone but Peter to pick up, which is probably a good thing. 

Michelle sighs quietly, giving herself a chance to wonder if she’s being too harsh while clambering onto the escape. There’s a nice breeze outside. That doesn’t mean it’s a pleasant day, though.

Truth be told, her bowl of Cheerios isn’t all that appetizing. Maybe the constant stench of death isn’t helping too much, either, but she’s suddenly not very hungry after taking just a few bites. Michelle sets the cereal aside—the rest will probably turn into dinner.

She lets herself sink to the metal floor, resting her head against the railing. From where Michelle’s sitting, she can see in through the windows of the apartment complex across from theirs—at least the ones that are open. It’s easy to tell which ones were abandoned and which ones now have the undead occupying them. 

Michelle notices that on one of the windowsills is a potted succulent. She used to have one of those herself—they’re supposed to be a houseplant that can't be killed easily, but that succulent looks as good as dead. It almost seems symbolic, considering those plants are supposed to represent tenacity and determination—that overcoming even the bleakest situations aren’t beyond anyone. But right now, wilting in that cracked pot seems more fitting.

The sound of tapping against the windowpane is what breaks Michelle out of her reverie. She turns to see that Peter’s hovering inside, a sheepish look on his face.

“Did you need something, Parker?” She asks, pressing her lips together thinly. He opens his mouth to say something and then quickly snaps it shut, deciding against it. Instead, Peter climbs out of the window to join her on the escape. Before she can get any words out, he speaks first.

“I know you’re still upset with me,” Peter blurts, eyes wide and cheeks red. Michelle sighs and looks away from him, tangling her fingers in her hair. “I didn’t mean to do what I did yesterday. I would never ever intentionally ignore your feelings. My apologies were shit yesterday, and Felicia suggested I come out here and try again—”

“Nice to know you listen to at least one of us,” Michelle mutters. “If you’re only apologizing because she told you to, I don’t want it, especially not if it’s out of pity or something. So, if that’s all, can you let me go back to brooding in peace? Thanks.”

“Michelle, please.” Peter crouches next to her, wearing one of those wounded-puppy looks. He holds out one of his hands, palm-up, like an offer. “You know I hate it when things aren’t right between us.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked things up, then,” she responds brazenly but does end up placing her hand in his. Peter looks rightfully apologetic while his thumb brushes almost absently against her skin.

“I didn’t mean to. I just—when we live in a world that’s dying like this, I couldn’t not offer Felicia a place to stay. That type of stuff is...wired into me, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a nice guy, I get that, but how would you feel if I asked a complete stranger—or even someone known for being an untrustworthy son of a bitch to survive with us? Would you feel comfortable with that, Peter?”

“But—no, that’s different—”

“How? Because you may be friends with Felicia, you may even trust her with all your heart, but I have plenty of reasons to refrain from that. And the fact that you didn’t even talk to me about that—let alone ask how I feel is really…” Michelle trails off and lets her face do the talking, because Peter can take a hint.

“A dick move. I’m sorry—I’m really sorry,” he murmurs, moving from the crouching position to his knees. Michelle bites her tongue to keep her attention on the pain rather than on his imploring eyes. “I know it’s not fair to you.”

“It’s not.”

“It won’t happen again. Ever. I swear I’ll always talk to you first about anything, should something like this occur again.” Michelle gives him a scrutinizing glance, and he crosses his fingers over his heart, his expression radiating sincerity.

“You seem to care a lot about this,” she muses, trying to hold out on the inevitable—the part where she will most definitely forgive him for his only slightly hurtful blunder. 

“Well, I care about you,” Peter mumbles, cheeks reddening. “A lot. Obviously. Sometimes, I’m just a bit hollow up here.” He taps his head meaningfully. “Stupid mistakes come out of it. There’s no excuse.”

“Alright, Parker, I think I’ve heard enough,” Michelle finally says, moving to stand up. Peter immediately seems alarmed, shooting onto his heels as well, rocking back and forth. “You made a good case, and I...for whatever reason...find it very hard to stay upset with you. So...we’re good, loser.”

“Yeah?” He smiles in relief, bright and blithely, and Michelle feels something in her lift. She merely nods and allows Peter to pull her into a hug that she was fully expecting. It’s purposely tight and familiar, which Michelle thinks will never get old. “I’m so glad.”

“Uh, don’t think that I’m suddenly going to get along with Felicia,” she adds, her voice muffled by his unruly curls. “I still don’t like her, and I definitely still don’t trust her. She used to be a criminal. Her tendencies are too violent for my taste. It doesn’t put me at ease.”

“Okay, that’s okay. Yeah, she can be a lot to handle, but once you get to know her, she’s not that bad. I wouldn’t have let her into our apartment if I didn’t trust her, so if you trust me...we should both be alright. Besides, it’s not like I’d let anything happen to you.”

“Shut up, Parker,” Michelle says with a light laugh, shoving his shoulder. “I don’t need a knight in shining armor.”

“I—I know, I just,” Peter stammers, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah.” He lets out an awkward chuckle and shakes his head, looking down. Michelle opens her mouth to say something, but then there’s pounding of footsteps above their heads. They both look up and notice that a zombie has made it on the fire escape a few floors up, which is a little disconcerting. “Uhm, should we go back inside before that...before he comes down?”

“I’d say that’s probably a good idea.” Peter ushers her inside the window before he follows in suit, closing and locking it behind him. 

“Hey, you two are back,” Felicia calls out from the dining table. “Good, ‘cause I was getting bored. And, by the way, you’re welcome for fixing your little relationship squabble or whatever it was.”

Michelle rolls her eyes, not bothering to hold back. “Funny that you think we would’ve needed you for that, but okay.” This time, it’s Felicia who rolls her eyes. Peter just lightly clears his throat and gestures to the closet in the hallway.

“I, uh, I’ve got a game of chess in there if either of you want to waste some time? Considering...there’s not really much to do around here.”

“I think I’m going to pass and go upstairs to finish my book. Chess was never really my forte, anyway,” Michelle says, purposely ignoring Peter’s pout. He knows she’s horrible at chess, so this was him basically setting her up to lose.

“Hey, I’ll play. Not to brag, but I think I’m a pretty fucking good chess player,” Felicia smirks, rubbing her hands together. Peter’s eyes widen and he merely nods while Michelle lets out a silent sigh, excusing herself. _Circe_ isn’t going to finish itself.

~~~

Michelle can’t help herself as she smiles at the end of her book as it finally comes to a close. It’s bittersweet, finishing a marvelous book like _Circe_, considering it was one of her only escapes from the real tragedy that’s the world right now, but it’s satisfying to know how the story ends for the characters. Whether the ending was happy or sad doesn’t matter, so long as it makes her want to pick it up again.

She goes to place it on the nightstand and briefly glances at the clock, only to remember that it has no use anymore, being digital and all. There’s no way to find out the time unless she uses the position of the sun in the sky as any indication. Michelle would say it’s later in the afternoon, judging by that.

After staring at words for so long, her eyes feel like they need a desperate reprieve, but just as she’s about to roll over on her side for a nap, the abrupt sound of pounding shatters the silence. Michelle sits up, blinking blearily while trying to make sense of what’s going on. She quickly gives up and decides to check it out for herself, only to find that it’s coming from the other side of the apartment door.

It’s Peter who’s currently looking through the peephole while Felicia stands behind him, her hands on her hips. Michelle crosses her arms as she slowly approaches them.

“What is it?” 

Peter pulls back from the door and runs a weary hand through his hair. He looks at Michelle, and she can read the emotional exhaustion all over his face, like it’s tiring being so sad all of the time.

“Just a couple of zombies. They, uh, used to be our neighbors, I think. Guess they weren’t so lucky as of lately. I should...I should probably take care of them or else they’ll just keep on trying to get in. Be right back,” Peter says with a sigh and then darts up the stairs, presumably to put on his suit.

Michelle stares at the door and then shakes her head in disappointment. Everyone’s dropping like flies. It seems like just yesterday, the people she heard in the neighboring apartments were alive and well. 

“I won both chess games, in case you were wondering,” Felicia speaks up with a smug smile as she leans against the wall. Michelle glances at her briefly before rolling her eyes.

“I wasn’t, but good for you. Chess is such a vital skill these days, isn’t it?” Her tone is just leaking sarcasm, but Michelle can’t really help it at this point.

“No need to be like that,” she huffs, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow and then breaks into another smirk. “You know, you’re exactly how Peter described. It’s interesting, really. He talks a lot about you. Always has. It’s kind of funny, huh? One would even think that he—”

“Felicia,” Peter’s voice interrupts, stern. Michelle blinks in surprise and turns to see him coming down the stairs in his suit, but he’s only staring at Felicia warily. She wonders what he could possibly be thinking, because his face isn’t betraying any easy emotions. 

Felicia merely chuckles lightly and clicks her nails against the metal of his suit. “Relax, Spider. I didn’t even get to the juicy details yet.”

Michelle presses her lips together at this as Peter flushes a little and moves towards the door. She doesn’t even have a chance to get any of her questions out before he shuts her down.

“It—it’s really nothing,” he mutters, shooting another warning glare towards Felicia. She just shrugs innocently in response, and they both seem to have conversations with their eyes. Michelle can’t read either of them, and it’s frustrating as hell, because it’s clearly about her and she’s being brushed off. “I’m going to go…” He jabs his thumb towards the door.

“Be careful,” Michelle reminds him drily. Peter nods in response before the mask forms over his face and he disappears into the hall, pushing zombies away from the door. It slams closed behind him, leaving them with only an echo. 

“Well, that happened,” Felicia purrs, startling Michelle as she feels a breath wisp against her neck. She whips around, jaw clenching in particular annoyance. “On a scale of one to ten, how curious are you?”

“Probably a negative ten. I don’t care.” A little bit of a lie, but Felicia doesn’t need to know that.

“What if I said that you were the main topic of our discussions? Would you not care then?”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, but I’m not interested. If you were talking about me, cool. If you weren’t talking about me, even cooler. Of course, I’d appreciate it if you and Peter wouldn’t act shady as fuck when I’m in the room, but hey, what can I do? Everyone’s entitled to hiding shit.”

“Hmm. So, it didn’t bother you when Peter refused to look you in your eyes? You didn’t wonder what was going through his mind? Not even once?”

“Felicia, I am not a robot, nor am I the frigid bitch you probably conjured me as in your mind. Of course I wondered—I have emotions, but I’m not going to poke and prod at him until he says something like you’re doing to me right now. If you have anything to say, then just spit it out. Otherwise, drop it.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. If I just come out and say it, then what’s the point?” Felicia pouts, cocking her head innocently. Michelle remains stoic, so she doesn’t say another word and instead starts treading up the stairs. Against her better judgement, Michelle follows, just to make sure nothing happens. “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never been in his room before.” She sashays through the doorway and scrutinizes it from wall to wall. “How expected. It’s really geeky just like him.”

“Are you really looking through his stuff? Have you ever heard the saying ‘_curiosity killed the cat_’?” Michelle asks, narrowing her eyes as Felicia pokes through the little knick-knacks littering Peter’s shelves.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” she hums smugly but then pauses while coming across the frame that’s sitting on his nightstand. “Oh, how cute. Who’s this?”

“Not really any of your business.”

“No shit.” Still, that doesn’t stop her from picking up the picture, examining it closely. “She’s pretty.”

“No shit,” Michelle replies, her eyes flicking up to meet Felicia’s for a brief second before she drops them. Subconsciously, she tucks a strand of curls behind her ear and refuses to look at the photo that Felicia is starting to take out of its frame. “What are you doing?”

“Relax. I’m just looking.”

“You’ve been looking. You can look without taking it out of the frame. What’s the big deal—”

“Gwen,” Felicia reads, her eyes scanning the back of the photo. “Even has a heart after her name. Interesting. Didn’t realize Peter had a little lover. He never seemed smooth enough to pick one up.” She seems a little skeptical, like she doesn’t believe that the girl in the picture exists, even though there’s tangible proof.

“Why do you care? Unless you’re jealous, which…” Michelle trails off and bites her tongue to keep from saying anything more—anything that could crack her open. However, it seems like Felicia’s already got her all figured out.

“Not me, kitty. Not me.” She gives Michelle a significant smirk, causing her heart to skip a beat in fear. Not one person has managed thus far to find out about her feelings, and she’s been hiding them for years. There’s no way this girl could just waltz in and suddenly know every little truth she’s keeping in the dark.

“Funny,” Michelle deadpans, trying to keep herself steady. “What’s your point?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Felicia tsks, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “You’re really transparent, you know.”

“Excuse me? What right do you have to come in here and tell me how I feel? You think I’m jealous...I’m not. I’m not—because what kind of fucking horrible person would I be to feel jealous of someone who’s _dead_?” Her voice wavers near the end, so Michelle takes a deep breath. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her. Peter didn’t deserve to lose her. They really liked each other. Those are the facts. Not that I...could _possibly_ be jealous.”

Felicia’s gaze melts into something akin to empathy, and she places the picture back in its frame. Her back is turned to Michelle when she starts speaking again.

“He talked a lot about this one girl in junior year, you know. Never said her name once, but it was always either some story about something she did—a witty comment she made or a rebuttal to this dick who always made fun of everyone—or he was describing her...like she was the best person he’s ever met.” Felicia straightens up and turns back to Michelle. “As soon as I got to that roof, it was obvious.”

Michelle finds that her mouth is suddenly very dry, and she can’t seem to swallow correctly. “What?”

“During our missions or when we were just chilling on a building somewhere, he always managed to bring you up, one way or another. It got kind of annoying if I’m being honest, but it was sweet. I wasn’t surprised to find that he wanted to spend the end of the world with you.”

“No, I...I’m sure he’d rather be spending it with Ned or May or...or Gwen,” Michelle exhales, gesturing weakly to the picture. 

“Look, he had a thing with Gwen, but it’s over. Yeah, he might be hurting because she’s gone, but literally anyone with eyes and ears can tell that she wasn’t the one. It was nice of you to back off, especially while he was dating her and even now. He needed the time to heal, but you shouldn’t wait forever. He was never in love with her.”

“What? How could you possibly know that?”

“Uh, because you can’t be in love with two people at the same time?” Felicia replies, raising an eyebrow. “Duh.”

“He’s not—”

“I don’t think you two realize how scared you are to open up to each other in the way you want to,” she cuts in brazenly. Michelle falters a little, her lips parting in surprise. “But if you think everyone else is oblivious to your feelings, then you’re wrong.”

“Well, he is. He’s been oblivious for years,” Michelle finally says, cracking open that part of herself to someone else for the first time. It feels like pressure is being relieved, just a little.

“When you like someone, it’s hard to see the signs that they like you back. You’re too caught up in your own emotions. Sometimes, it gets to be too much, and you need a break. Probably why he went to Gwen...someone who he could have feelings for that weren’t so intense.”

“Stop giving me hope, Felicia,” she murmurs with a weak chuckle, leaning her head against the doorframe. “It’s cruel.”

“He thought the same thing, you know.” When Michelle’s eyebrows fly up, Felicia smirks. “What did you think we were talking about during those chess games? I couldn’t not confront him about it.”

“That’s what you were talking about?”

“Contrary to your belief that he’d talk shit about you with me,” she chuckles.

“I didn’t know what to think,” Michelle mumbles. “I definitely didn’t expect this, though. What, are you some sort of relationship guru? You run a blog in your spare time?”

“I dabble here and there,” Felicia shrugs coyly. “You can do what you will with what you’ve learned. I’m fully expecting the two of you to keep dancing around each other, but who knows.”

“Who knows,” she repeats, rubbing at a spot on the floor with her toe.

“And MJ.” Michelle looks up to meet Felicia’s gaze, which is more docile than she’s seen it before. “I don’t think you’re a frigid bitch.”

“Thanks. I don’t think you’re one either.”

They both share a chuckle, and Michelle wonders if she could truly find a friend within Felicia.

~~~

“Hey.”

Michelle looks up from her sketchbook, which is really just a blank notepad she found on Peter’s dresser, and sees him lingering by the doorway. There’s not much light in his room at the moment, but the sun that’s setting across the skyline glints against his metal armor.

At the moment, she’s currently just lounging on his bottom bunk, drawing whatever interests her. It just so happens to be the view of her ankles crossed against his duvet, the shadows casting rigged contour lines along the blue pattern.

“Hi,” Michelle responds, unable to help the way her lips quirk up from the sight of him, safe if not a little disheveled. “You take care of them?” She doesn’t feel the need to specify.

“Yeah,” Peter murmurs, looking down. Michelle isn’t oblivious to his more despondent mood—he had to dispose of his neighbors, for crying out loud. The world never seems to cut him a break, which he so desperately needs. “I took care of them.”

“I should give you your bed back, then, huh? For all of the work you’ve been doing, you could use some rest,” she breathes, pulling some hair behind her ear. 

Peter’s eyes snap up, illuminated by the golden light, and Michelle can see all of the small details her mind had previously refused to notice. Like the dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose that form from being in the sun too long. Like the way he pokes the inside of his cheeks with his tongue while trying to come up with something to say. Like how his hair looks to have a reddish tint when the sun hits it just right.

Michelle has to pull herself out of her own head after realizing that staring for too long would be creepy. She manages to briefly smile in question, seeing as he hasn’t responded to her yet.

“Uhm, no, uh—weren’t you doing something? I don’t want to interrupt,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. Michelle merely shrugs in response and lifts the sketchbook.

“Just doodling a little. Nothing too interesting.”

“I’m positive it’s better than anything I could draw,” Peter remarks, half-smiling. She snorts lightly at that and shakes her head a little. “Can I see?”

Michelle pauses, letting that question run a quick mile around her brain before she finally nods. She reveals the sheet of paper covered in lines and criss-crosses that shade the shadows she saw. “It’s not my best…”

Peter’s half-smile melts into one of his full-fledged beams, and he shakes his head. “Shut up, Em. That’s amazing, and we both know it.”

“Always buttering me up, Parker,” she replies, allowing herself to smile back at him. He chuckles quietly and kicks at the flooring, keeping his hands twisted behind his back. “Felicia still downstairs, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah, yeah. When I came back, she was asleep on the couch...snoring, actually. It was kind of funny.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Michelle muses. “But, uh, you never answered my question. The, um, first one. Do you want me to get out of your hair? You look like you could fall asleep standing up if I’m being honest, loser.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere...if you don’t want to.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Peter says with a soft laugh. “Just give me a minute, I’m going to get changed out of this real quick.” He disappears into the bathroom, allowing Michelle a moment to collect her thoughts and even a second to pinch herself out of this stupor. Just because she finally came to terms with her feelings doesn’t mean she can get all lovesick now. That would be disgusting.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom in his sweats, Michelle automatically moves closer to the wall so that there’s a fair amount of space for him on the bed. He doesn’t say anything, but she can hear a little hum of contentment as he settles down to rest.

“You going to sleep?”

“Maybe,” comes his simple response.

Michelle accepts that and turns her attention back to her sketch. It’s missing something, she notes. There’s a blank space that needs to be filled so it doesn’t seem as empty. Mindlessly, her pencil pulls itself across the page, making the void smaller and smaller.

Peter lifts his head to watch her draw, and she doesn’t mind. The sleepy smile is something she notices but doesn’t comment on, not even as he drops his forehead against her shoulder. When his eyes start to flutter shut and he dozes off, she still doesn’t mind. 

In fact, by the time Michelle decides to drop a brief yet gentle kiss into his curled locks, one of his hands is already wrapped around her arm. 

It’s really nice, she thinks, staring at her sketch where the emptiness has been filled. There are two pairs of feet resting on the duvet, ankles crossed, all contoured and shadowed. It feels complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t realize how long these chapters are oops


	8. we would even have to say goodbye

The next couple of days aren’t so hectic, Michelle notices. They’ve mainly consisted of staying inside, hidden away from the world and the zombies. It’s not bad, not like it was before when she felt trapped. Someway, somehow, she feels more free.

Michelle thinks that the three of them—her, Felicia, and Peter—have really bonded by spending the lonely days together. After the day where Felicia managed to figure her out completely, Michelle decided that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to open up a bit more on her own. 

Peter seems pleased that there’s no longer a wall of disdain separating her and Felicia, which, good for him. But every now and then, Michelle sees him staring forlornly at pictures of him and Ned that he’s got plastered around his room. It’s not the same, and they both know it. Without any way to contact their third musketeer, it’s hard to keep from wondering. It’s always the same question—dead or alive?

On those days, Michelle and Peter just sit on his bed and recall the countless memories that they’ve shared throughout high school with Ned. Decathlon, lunchtime, field trips with Mr. Harrington, movie nights...it feels endless.

But those memories _have_ ended, and they need to live in the present now. Michelle isn’t keen on thinking about the possibility of her other best friend being dragged into the abyss, so she doesn’t. Ned is mentally strong, and he’s a genius. In her mind, he’d be the first and last one standing during a zombie apocalypse.

The days carry on, and even though the times could be better, Michelle makes the mistake of thinking that they’ve passed through the worst of it. What a way to fucking jinx it.

“So, I know we’re all aware that haven’t been rolling around in the goods recently, but...uh, now there isn’t anything to even roll around in,” Michelle announces as she stares at the lackluster pantry. “We’re almost out of food...so…”

“This was bound to happen sooner or later,” Peter groans as he appears next to her, slapping his forehead. “I thought we would’ve at least been prepared for it, but apparently not.”

“C’mon, you shitheads, it’s not that hard to break into a different place and steal some food,” Felicia pipes up, unyielding to the deadpan looks she receives. “What? That’s how you survive. I don’t know if you two were planning to live off of crumbs for the rest of your days, but this was inevitable. Supplies will always run out.”

“She’s right,” Michelle eventually concedes, pressing her lips together. “We need food before we starve to death, because licking up the crumbs from the back of the pantry isn’t an option. We’re surrounded by plenty of abandoned apartments, right? So...why not see if they’ve got anything edible?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth, kitty,” she replies with a subtle wink.

“But that doesn’t take all three of us, right? And there are so many things that could wrong, you know,” Peter points out, eyes wide and hands thrown up. “We don’t know which of these apartments are occupied with zombies and which actually have food in them.”

“Which is why we’re going to make sure,” Felicia tells him slowly, raising an eyebrow. “The more people, the merrier.” She watches as his expression falls into one akin to helplessness and he glances carefully at Michelle, who’s already started piling weapons into her duffle. 

After realizing that it’s gone silent and she’s now the main attraction, Michelle awkwardly slows down and clears her throat, because why are there two pairs of eyes on her?

“Something on my face?” She asks warily, gaze flickering between Felicia and Peter.

“No—no, I’m just thinking,” Peter stammers, looking away much too fast for it to be considered casual.

“Overthinking, you mean,” Felicia corrects him, her voice deadpan, and then jabs her thumb in Michelle’s direction, who blinks, startled. “Probably about ways to convince her to stay here where it’s zombie-free, right?” He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, meaning she was spot-on. “Sorry, Parker, not today. We need hands because our stash is running low. She has hands.”

“I—I know that...I’m not…” He trails off, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

“Then you know that MJ isn’t going to stay behind just because you don’t want anything to happen to her. News flash, Spider, everyone’s getting hurt these days, including you.”

“No, I’m not trying to keep her—”

“Does anyone else find it annoying when people talk about you like you’re not in the room, or is that just me?” Michelle speaks up, her voice oozing sarcasm. She gives Felicia the side-eye, the response being a shrug.

“Sorry, kitty, but you _are_ coming with us to help.”

“I am coming, but it was my decision, anyway, and mine alone. Butt out, Felicia. Actually, literally _butt out_ of the kitchen so that I can talk to Peter. Here take these. Prepare yourself. Flex your muscles. Stretch. Do something.” Michelle drops the duffle of weapons into Felicia’s arms and pushes her towards the doorway.

“MJ, I swear I’m not trying to keep you from helping or anything. That’s not what it is,” Peter immediately rambles, but Michelle holds a finger up for him to wait.

“I know what you’re doing, Parker. You’re not the only one who’s ever thought these things.” Peter opens his mouth, but Michelle bulldozes over his words. “I get it, because I’ve selfishly considered asking you on multiple occasions to stay here and not go out as Spider-Man. You and I aren’t the same, but you still get hurt. It doesn’t make me feel good, and yet, I can’t protect you from the world. You can’t protect me from the world, either.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t try to keep you safe,” he blurts, lips pressed together thinly. “Because it probably hurts me a lot more when something happens to you than vice versa and I don’t want to risk that—”

“Wait, hold on. Says who? Are you accusing me of not caring about you as much as you do me or something, Parker? I swear to god—”

“No, that’s not—” Peter lets out a grunt of frustration and rakes his fingers through his curls. “I meant it in a different way. I feel something you don’t, so when you get hurt, I can’t…”

“You don’t know what I feel, Peter. You have no idea,” Michelle exhales, her eyes narrowed and shoulders squared. Her mind is spinning too much that it takes a moment to realize that there’s not much space between them. 

Once Peter notices it, too, his lips part and the fight seeps out of him in one breath. Michelle bites the inside of her cheek, wondering what would happen if she just ducked her head an inch to catch his lips against hers, something that seemed so impossible for so long. His eyes are innocently wide, cheeks a pink hue, and it would be so easy…

“Chop, chop, guys, we don’t have all day!” Felicia shouts unenthusiastically from the other room.

But maybe it’ll always just be wishful thinking.

They both jump a foot back from each other, and Michelle kicks herself for even entertaining the idea in her head, because clearly, Peter didn’t want that. He wouldn’t.

But if she were paying attention, then maybe Michelle would’ve noticed the breath of disappointment that Peter releases after being so close and yet so far.

~~~

After being sandwiched between her two extremely infuriating housemates the whole walk down the hallway, Michelle is glad for the reprieve once they reach the door of another apartment. She’s idly twisting the knife chosen as her weapon of protection in between her fingers, distantly hoping it doesn’t catch on any skin. 

Meanwhile, Peter’s using his super-senses to make sure that the apartment isn’t occupied. It’s been quiet for long enough that Michelle would’ve assumed that there’s no one in there, but then something thumps violently against the door, and they jump back in surprise.

“Okay, clearly, something’s already called dibs,” she sardonically remarks and turns on her heel to move to another door. There’s one at the end of the hall that has a hole through it. Michelle’s about to crouch down to see if anything’s in there, but then Peter grasps her wrist.

“No, don’t go to that one,” he says quietly while his fingers hover against her pulse. Michelle swallows and nods, hoping he’ll chalk up her blood pressure to their surroundings and that’s it.

“Guys, we need to speed this process up a bit,” Felicia advises lowly, gesturing her head towards the elevator doors. It’s weird, because the entire building isn’t supposed to have power, but one of the arrows is lit up. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but that elevator’s coming to this floor.”

“Maybe—maybe someone managed to fix the backup generator or something,” Peter reasons, his expression twisted into confusion.

“Who cares? We’re not staying to find out if anyone’s on that elevator,” Michelle utters and goes over to another door. Without waiting, she knocks lightly against the wood, despite Felicia and Peter’s alarmed looks. There’s nothing, so she rattles the doorknob, which is unfortunately locked. “Felicia, do your thing here.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Felicia smirks but takes a bobby pin from her hair and shoves it into the knob.

“Don’t do that again,” Peter hisses to Michelle under his breath, causing her to roll her eyes. “If there are any other survivors in this building, we don’t need to alert them that we’re here by knocking. They could be armed or something.”

“Well, sorry if I don’t have the patience to wait for your spider-ears to pick up any heartbeats, Parker,” she retorts, occasionally casting a glance at the elevator. They’re currently on floor seven, and the number on the screen says five, still increasing. 

“Quit the couple squabbling and get in here,” Felicia mutters as she wrenches the door open, revealing a primly pristine apartment, void of any gore. “Uh, okay. Nice.” The three of them head in quickly and bolt the door again.

“Must’ve left everything here and locked their doors before booking it. I’m surprised no one else has come in yet.”

“Convenient for us,” Michelle shrugs and grabs a few plastic bags from Felicia before heading into the kitchen. Utterly glorious, she thinks while staring into the pantry with shelves full to the brim. Things like peanut butter and jello and goldfish go into the bag, along with anything else that’s not already growing mold. She also snatches every water bottle that’s sitting there—at least the ones she can carry.

Her bags end up being so heavy that Michelle’s afraid they’ll rip open from the bottom. Plastic grocery bags aren’t the most durable, but it’s all they had in abundance.

Michelle avoids the fridge completely and goes towards the living room where Peter‘s stealing their stash of batteries. She assumes that Felicia’s in one of the bathrooms, stocking up on toilet paper and other things. 

“Think you got enough?” Peter quips, staring at her bulky bags in slight amusement.

“Oh, Parker, I got everything. If you wanted the stuff growing fuzz on it, though, I’ll have to go back for that,” she replies, dropping her bags on the couch.

“I think I’m good,” he says with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“If you say so. Now, listen, do you suppose it would be totally rude of me to steal a few of their books? I mean, it seems like such a waste to be sitting there, collecting dust.”

“By all means, make some use out of them.”

Michelle smirks and then waltzes over to the bookshelf, plucking a few of her favorite classics out as well as Stephen King books that really seem to match the atmosphere.

Except, when the TV suddenly turns on, casting a staticy shadow across the room, she might have to change her choices. Because after that, the radio starts blaring and then all of the light turns on, flickering every other second. It’s startling—and even more than that, it’s unsettling.

“Should I be worried that this apartment has ghosts? Because zombies are already enough for me,” Michelle frowns, looking around nervously before her gaze lands on Peter, who seems just as anxious. “What the hell is going on? The whole city isn’t supposed to have power, so why does this apartment?”

“I’m not sure,” Peter exhales, eyes darting across the room, looking for one reasonable explanation to why this could be happening. Unfortunately, it seems his Spidey sense picks it up before anything else. “MJ, closet. Closet, right now.” He already has his hand on her back, ushering her towards the hallway frantically while she still has no idea what’s going on.

“What—what about Felicia?” 

“She’s smart, she’ll figure out not to come down here,” he says and then closes the door on them once they’re both secured in the extremely cramped space filled with brooms and boxes. Michelle holds her breath, entire body tensing when the sound of splintering wood crashes into the foyer. It more or less seems like someone or something kicked the door down.

“Peter,” Michelle whispers, and he looks at her, eyes wide. Peter puts a finger to his lips and then they both just listen. There’s silence for a good minute before someone lets out a loud shout, seemingly right outside the door, and then the lightbulb hanging above their heads flares brightly—almost too brightly. Michelle makes the mistake of looking up at it, because the second she does, it shatters into pieces, sparks flying.

Peter’s arms shoot over her head, and they duck away from the raining glass shards. Michelle isn’t sure what’s happening—she has absolutely no clue, and it’s causing her anxiety to spike. 

“Are you okay?” Peter murmurs under his breath when she finally plucks up the courage to come out of his makeshift shelter. Michelle notices that there are a few pieces of glass sticking out of his forearms. It’s a minor injury, but still, her heart sinks. 

“You should’ve worn your suit,” she responds quietly, biting the inside of her cheek.

“I know. I didn’t expect...whatever’s happening to happen.”

Michelle nods solemnly and reaches for one of his arms, preparing to remove the shards, but before she can, light floods into the closet as the door swings open. She can’t hold back the sharp gasp that escapes her mouth as there’s a man standing in front of her that looks to be charged with electricity. His skin is radiating a light blue with power coursing through it.

“What the hell…” Michelle breathes, her heart racing as whoever this is gives her a once-over before his gaze shifts to Peter. That’s when the man’s expression hardens.

“Spider-Man, are you trying to hide from me?”

“Um, what?” Peter squeaks, licking his lips nervously. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“Of course you don’t, but I know who you are. All of New York knows who you are—or...at least what’s left of it,” the man states slowly, clenching his fists. “After seeing your face, I thought it’d be easier to find you, but you’re a sneaky little fella.”

“Okay...I’m a little lost. Why did you want to find me?”

“Because, boy, you’ve always been the hero of the story, but you’ve never given anyone else a chance to shine. Everything I’ve ever done has been ignored because of you. All that used to be on the news was Spider-Man did this, Spider-Man did that…even after New York’s been reduced to ruins, you’re still everything _anyone_/ talks about. It’s _my_ turn to be the hero—it’s my turn to shine. You just need to step out of the spotlight.”__

_ _“Look, I’m sorry,” Peter says, holding his hands up as he starts to inch out of the closet. “My purpose has only ever been to help as many people as I can. I’m not trying to take anything away from you. If your goal is the same as mine, then maybe we can work together. Everyone’s dying—there’s no need to lose anything else.”_ _

_ _“I’m never going to be known as the hero who stopped the apocalypse if I’m standing next to you. The world needs to hear Electro’s name,” he snarls, and before Michelle can even blink, the closet door is slammed closed in her face just as she sees sparks. Her immediate reaction is panic, and she tries to wrench it open but to no avail. It takes her a moment to realize that there are webs holding it closed._ _

_ _“Are you—are you fucking kidding me?!” Michelle exclaims, slamming her palm against the door. It doesn’t budge, of course. She turns around and starts rifling through the boxes in the closet, because maybe there could be something to rip apart his industrial-strength webbing._ _

_ _There isn’t much that would even be able to tear it, honestly, so Michelle resorts to finding ways to splinter the door. If someone like Electro can do that, then surely she can, too, right? Michelle kids herself on the worst days, but there really aren’t any other options. Her sneakers aren’t going to do shit, so she grabs the handle of a broom and starts ramming it against the wood. The most it’s doing is chipping some paint off. _ _

_ _Michelle then contemplates throwing the vacuum at the door, which probably won’t help, but she does it anyway. Nothing. It’s all last resorts at this point. She chucks her sneakers off and slips on a pair of work boots that were hidden in the far corner. Using what little upper-body strength she has, Michelle dangles from the coat rack and starts swinging her feet into the door._ _

_ _It doesn’t do anything at first, but then she notices a crack starting to form near the handle. Michelle continues kicking with all that she’s got and eventually, one of her feet pokes a hole. She keeps it up until the hole is big enough for her to crawl through._ _

_ _Once she makes it into the hallway, painful yet relieving realization hits her. All of the lights are off again. The radio has stopped. The TV’s screen is black once again. _ _

_ _Michelle goes into the living room to find that Electro is lying sideways on the ground, completely cocooned in webs. Felicia’s standing by with a dripping bucket of what used to have water in it, her expression slack._ _

_ _“Water fizzles out electricity, bud. You should’ve known.”_ _

_ _Michelle’s attention is caught by the sound of coughing. She turns around and sees that Peter’s sitting against the wall, making her stomach drops in horror. His arms and neck and whatever else are covered in burns, not to mention that he’s literally smoking. She quickly steps over some broken glass from a lamp that’s littering the floor and crouches next to him._ _

_ _“I really hate you, Parker,” Michelle mutters, carding her fingers through his hair. It’s singed a little. “You’re killing me.”_ _

_ _“‘M sorry,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. She merely shakes her head and starts examining how bad the damage really is. “E-electricity is no joke…”_ _

_ _“It’s really not. You could’ve died, you idiot,” she sighs, pressing down any urge to cry. He’s not dead. He’ll be okay. He’s _not_ dead. _He’s not dead.__ _

_ _“So, what should we do with this guy?” Felicia asks, shaking out the bucket over Electro, spilling little droplets of water. “Feed him to the zombies? Feed him to the raccoons? Feed him to some cannibals?”_ _

_ _“N-no. If I could just—get into contact with S.H.I.E.L.D., they’d be able to take care of him...but my phone’s dead,” Peter exhales slowly, wincing. _ _

_ _“I bet his isn’t,” Michelle says, gesturing to Electro, who’s phone is lying on the floor next to him with cracks decorating the edges. Felicia smirks and bends down to retrieve it._ _

_ _“It still works and surprise, surprise. Full battery. Now all we need is some cell phone reception. I could go to the roof and see. Maybe since this guy’s got Verizon, we’ll have coverage,” Felicia utters, her lips pursed. “Spider, I’m gonna need Fury’s number.”_ _

_ _“It’s 744-353-3879. Literally spells out S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury.”_ _

_ _“Of course it does.” Felicia rolls her eyes before opening the living room window and sneaks out onto the fire escape._ _

_ _Michelle remains quiet for a minute or two before looking at Peter. He’s already staring at her but manages a feeble smile when their eyes lock._ _

_ _“You know it’s going to hurt like a bitch when you have to shower,” she points out, her expression unreadable. Peter lets out a breathy chuckle, though she’s not sure what could be funny in this situation. He’s burnt all over because of some smurf wannabe, and he’s somehow able to laugh? “Stop.”_ _

_ _Peter’s expression falls a little bit at her tone. “What?”_ _

_ _“Stop laughing. Stop trying to smile at me. Do you realize how not happy this situation is, Peter? You almost died, for god’s sake. We’re stuck in an apartment with a guy that could grill us both in an instant until S.H.I.E.L.D. hopefully gets their asses over here to take care of him, but then we’ll still be stuck in this building because of the fucking zombies—when is this going to end? I’m tired, you’re tired—this feels like a never-ending cycle of death just looming over our heads forever. What’s the point anymore?”_ _

_ _“Michelle,” Peter says softly, and she pauses to look at him. He’s blurry. She’s crying—why not?_ _

_ _“This sucks, Peter.”_ _

_ _“I know it does. This is the world we live in now. There’s not much we can do at the moment to change it, so I just...I guess I’m trying to make the best of it, you know? I personally find it kind of funny that I’m sitting her like a burnt shishkabob—it’s the irony, really.”_ _

_ _“I...I just feel like I’m losing motivation. We’re all going to end up dead sooner or later.”_ _

_ _“Then let’s make it later. I don’t really have many ideas for motivation, none that will flip your world upside-down or anything, but what if I…” Peter trails off, his voice going a little unsteady, and Michelle’s thoroughly unprepared for when he leans forward, pressing his lips to hers._ _

_ _She’s shocked for a good couple of seconds, that’s for sure, but when Peter starts to pull back, Michelle gingerly cups his cheek to bring him closer. It’s sadly not her first kiss—she accidentally let Harry fucking Osborn snag a peck on the lips near the beginning of the school year, back when Peter and Gwen were getting close with each other, back when she wasn’t having a good time. But the way Peter’s kissing her now with such reverence and tenderness, it makes Michelle feel like it’s her first kiss. _ _

_ _When Michelle pulls back to breathe, she knows that her pupils are dilated and her lips are swollen without even having to look. Peter’s a mirror image, his cheeks flushed a million times over as a shy smile takes over._ _

_ _“Don’t let this go to your head, Parker...but you’re actually a good kisser,” Michelle finally tells him, grinning at the floor._ _

_ _“Thanks,” he responds sheepishly. “I, uhm, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while if I’m being honest. I just didn’t know if you…”_ _

_ _“I did. I mean—I do. I…really like you, Parker,” she admits, twisting her fingers together. “But I never said anything because I wasn’t sure if it was just me...and then the thing with Gwen happened...I thought you needed time. And, plus...I was scared. Shocking, right?”_ _

_ _“I feel that,” Peter muses quietly. “And I appreciate that you waited a bit after Gwen. I didn’t love her, per se, not like I love…” He trails off and quickly clears his throat before feebly continuing. “But she was a good friend and a good person...just like you, Em. You’re more than that, though. You’re…” He pauses and looks at Michelle with a furious blush. “Not to sound too cheesy, but you’re everything.”_ _

_ _“Oh, my god, Peter,” Michelle smiles, hiding her face in her hands. “That was so lame. You’re so lame. I can’t believe I have feelings for you.”_ _

_ _“On the contrary, I can believe it. Look at how smoking hot I am,” he jokes, wincing slightly as he tries to sit up straighter. Michelle lets out a snort and goes to stand up._ _

_ _“That was horrible, shut up. You’re burnt like a crisp. I’m going to grab the first aid kit from the closet and try to clean these burns so people don’t mistake you for a rotisserie chicken.” Michelle quickly rushes out of the living room to get the kit, which was also a nice excuse to give her face some time to cool down. She retrieves it from the top shelf and returns to find Felicia clambering back through the window._ _

_ _“Managed to catch one bar. It’s a miracle. Fury said he’ll be down to get this guy, though it would’ve saved a lot more time if he hadn’t grilled me on my identity and how I got his number,” Felicia informs them with a scoff._ _

_ _“That...that’s good,” Peter nods, his face contorting in discomfort._ _

_ _“For the love of god, stop moving, you dumbass,” Michelle grunts, dabbing gingerly at his wounds, unable to help the grimace that’s formed on her lips. Staring at severe injuries like these are not her forte, nor should they be in her job description. _ _

_ _“Well...I’m going to lug this guy to the roof,” Felicia says, pursing her lips while kicking at Electro on the floor. “You guys can flirt in peace or whatever.” She shoots a quick wink in their direction before dragging out the webbed-up electric powerhouse by his feet._ _

_ _“You know, that girl is too observant for her own good...kind of like someone else I know,” Peter remarks, closing his eyes for a moment. Michelle smiles but doesn’t say anything as she starts wrapping bandages around his arms. “She knew how I felt about you even before I did.”_ _

_ _“Why do you say?”_ _

_ _“I, uh...talked about you...back in junior year when we had those meetups. Never told her your name, but—”_ _

_ _“Funnily enough, Felicia already told me this,” Michelle hums with a slight chuckle, her fingers lightly skimming over the wounds creeping up his neck. Peter’s eyes shoot open in surprise, his face flushing quite a bit. “Apparently, you talked me up quite a lot. Now I’ve got a reputation to hold.”_ _

_ _“Oh...heh. Yeah,” he mumbles, grinning sheepishly at the floor, giving Michelle easier access to clean the burns along his back. “She confronted me about that after meeting you face-to-face, all like, ‘_oh, my god, that’s so totally her_!’.” His voice goes all high-pitched, more than usual, and Michelle can’t hold back her snort of amusement. His Felicia impression could use some work. “And every conversation after that felt like a lecture about feelings.”_ _

_ _“Ditto, man. When you went to go slay some zombies, she, like, called me out. I didn’t realize I was really transparent, apparently, or that she was intuitive about this kind of stuff. But, uh, the advice she gave me was good stuff, and I’m honestly glad I got to talk to her.”_ _

_ _“Same. Her advice was really smart,” Peter exhales, looking up at Michelle. “I’m glad I took it.”_ _

_ _“I’m glad you did, too,” she murmurs, her lips unintentionally curling upwards once again. Without subjecting herself to overthinking, Michelle then leans forward and presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead. She feels him grasp her hand and squeeze it gently in response. “I’m going to gather the rest of the supplies we need real quick.”_ _

_ _“Okay.” There’s a pause and then: “Come back to me when you’re done?”_ _

_ _“You know I always will.”_ _

_ _~~~_ _

_ _“You’re leaving us already?” Michelle questions teasingly, though she can’t help but feel a little sad. “I’m going to have to deal with Parker all by myself again?” Felicia responds with a knowing smirk and shrugs her shoulders._ _

_ _“After using my efficient...persuasive tactics, Fury couldn’t help but offer me a ride to Washington D.C. in his fancy helicopter. I’ll be able to check if those refugees are there like they said they’d be,” she explains, pointing to the roof of the building. “Fury offered the ride to Europe again, but I figured you’d say no, Spider.”_ _

_ _“Yeah, I’m not leaving,” Peter nods, attempting to stand up. Michelle gives Felicia a ‘can you believe this guy?’ look before letting him lean half of his body weight against her. The healing process is going to take a lot more time than usual, so he’ll probably be sore for a couple of days. “But I guess I’ll miss you, Felicia.”_ _

_ _“Not too much, I bet,” Felicia smirks and gives him a side-hug. “See you around, Parker. Try not to get killed again. Listen to the brains of the operation, who is so clearly…” She gestures to Michelle, who nods in agreement. It’s obviously true. No doubt. “And you. Shame you only got to spend a mere week with me, but if this apocalypse ever ends, we should get together for some coffee.”_ _

_ _Michelle good-naturedly rolls her eyes and then sports a smile. “Sure, Felicia. Tea is better, but whatever.”_ _

_ _“Whatever,” she chuckles and blows a kiss before turning towards the window, climbing out with ease. While disappearing from view, Michelle doesn’t miss the subtle wink sent their way._ _

_ _“Guess it’s just going to be the two of us again for a while.”_ _

_ _“Wow, Parker, really demonstrated that enthusiasm, I see,” Michelle sarcastically quips. His eyes widen to the size of saucers, and it makes her think she’ll never get tired of messing with him. “I’m joking.”_ _

_ _“Oh. Okay, because I was gonna go on a whole spiel about why I’m glad it’ll just be us again,” he replies with a sheepish grin, leaning up to lightly kiss her nose. Michelle’s sure her mind short-circuits and basically misses the rest of what Peter says. “We’re such a good team, remember? It’s like you and me against the world—”_ _

_ _“Is this going to become a thing?”_ _

_ _“Uh, what?”_ _

_ _“I mean...are we going to start doing that kissing thing? And couple things? Are we even a couple?” Michelle rambles, laughing awkwardly near the end. Peter’s face burns the same color as the flaming sun and he lets out an embarrassed chuckle._ _

_ _“I’m sorry, should I not have...I just...was the kiss supposed to just be a one-time thing? Because I didn’t get the memo—I just kind of wanted to, so I did—”_ _

_ _“You don’t hear me saying I didn’t like it,” she interrupts, smiling at him. “Just some clarification would be nice so I know what to do and what not to do.”_ _

_ _Peter blushes again and nods. “Okay. That makes sense. I, uhm...Michelle Jones, would you please be my girlfriend? Because that would be really lovely—I’d like it a lot—”_ _

_ _“You dork,” Michelle whispers affectionately before shutting him up with a kiss to his lips. Peter stumbles a bit into her arms, his hands finding her waist as she takes care not to disturb his bandages. It’d be impossible to not feel the smiles that are tethering them together. Even when they take a breather, she can still feel her lips curled upwards. “Yes.”_ _

_ _“Yes?” Peter grins unabashedly._ _

_ _“Yes.” _ _

_ _“Awesome…”_ _

_ _They do nothing but stare at each other with stars in their eyes, like they’re not living through the end of the world but they’re still the only ones that orbit each other’s universes. It’s such an intense feeling that Michelle has to bite her lip and look away first, even for a brief moment._ _

_ _“It’s you and I, by the way.”_ _

_ _“Hmm?”_ _

_ _“Learn proper grammar, nerd. It’s you and _I_ against the world.”_ _

_ _~~~_ _

_ _“I...did not—expect this to be such a workout,” Michelle groans as she heaves all of the supplies they’ve gathered from the apartment into her arms. Peter watches from the sidelines, eyebrow raised, because she refused to let him carry anything back to their place. She thought it wouldn’t do his wounds any good, but maybe trying to take everything on by herself was a mistake. _ _

_ _Yeah, no, it definitely was._ _

_ _“You need a hand there, Em?” He asks in amusement._ _

_ _“Oh—ugh, yep. Get your spider-ass over here, Parker. Carry the bathroom stuff, because I don’t have eight limbs. I got all of the plastic bags. My arms might fall off pretty soon, though, so if we could hurry this up.”_ _

_ _“Says the slowpoke,” Peter snorts and walks out of the apartment, towards their own. Michelle grunts and trails after him, hoping that she won’t drop anything. The hallway looks pretty empty, but she can hear the creaking of floorboards from different directions in their vicinity. _ _

_ _“You’ve got the key?”_ _

_ _“I’ve got the key. Uhm, hold real quick.” He gives Michelle the bathroom supplies back, adding another pound or two onto the load. It’s not so much weight as it is abundance. The inconvenience of it all is unbelievable. “Shit. There’s a zombie coming.”_ _

_ _“Well, hurry up!” Michelle exclaims, looking warily over her shoulder. Sure enough, there’s a zombie slowly limping its way over. With blood coating it’s jaw, she’s sure that it already had a feast, but their stomach is somehow a bottomless pit all of the time. “Peter.”_ _

_ _“Fuck, I had the key upside-down. Okay—okay, I got it!” He pushes the door open, and they both rush inside, letting it slam closed behind them. Peter locks it once more as Michelle drops everything on the ground in relief. She takes a deep breath and looks back at Peter, who’s back is leaning against the door, curls in a disarray. _ _

_ _“Any chance you’d want to take some of this food and turn in early for the night?”_ _

_ _“Yeah, I’m honestly beat. And also, it kind of hurts to move,” he exhales, nodding._ _

_ _So, that’s exactly what they do. Michelle changes into one of Peter’s t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants before climbing into bed. The two of them share a box of slightly stale goldfish and don’t feel guilty in the slightest afterwards. She doesn’t protest when his arms engulf her or when he kisses her forehead twice for good measure. He doesn’t protest when she smiles fondly at the permanent blush that paints his cheeks or when she tucks her face into the crook of his neck._ _

_ _It’s easy to fall asleep after that, night after night, tangled up in each other. The warmth and comfort and ease that’s gained by having the person you want to spend the rest of your life with—no matter how long that may be—safe in your arms is exponential. Some would even define it as happiness._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew finally


	9. since the world is ending

The days continue to go by as peacefully as one would think they would during the apocalypse, but Michelle finally feels content with being where they are. Every moment of every day is starting to feel like a blessing rather than a burden, and she really thinks that Peter’s idea of ‘motivation’ has really helped. 

It’s indescribable—the feeling of waking up to someone peppering kisses across your cheeks, the feeling you get when that same person is the first thing you open your eyes to in the morning and the last thing you see before closing them at night.

Neither Michelle nor Peter has said the big ‘L’ word just yet, but it’s not because it’s too early—they’ve known how they’ve felt for each other long enough. It just doesn’t feel necessary. Actions speak louder than words, so when she finds Peter attempting to make her some tea in the kitchen—which ends up being cold and kind of gross—or when he sits down with her on the couch and rubs her back, or when they just lie together in bed and take turns reading out loud to each other, Michelle feels that warmth curdle around her heart in the best way possible.

Not every day starts off like that, though.

Michelle opens her eyes to the sound of thunder and flashes of lightning that are brightening up the room, consequently casting a shadow onto the wall. It’s not a big deal, not really, but the thing is, she isn’t the biggest fan of spiders. Ironically, of course. 

So, when she wakes up first thing to the sight of a beady-eyed arachnid staring down at her from its web, dangling from the top bunk, Michelle isn’t going to react calmly.

“Oh, my god, holy—nuh-uh, _no_,” she immediately squeaks and tumbles out of bed with less grace than usual. It’s not a small spider, which doesn’t help.

“MJ?” Peter sleepily inquires, his arm reaching towards her side of the bed, only to fall flat. At that, his eyes snap open and blink in confusion when they find her. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Because I don’t do well with demons watching me sleep.”

“What?”

“_Demon_,” Michelle enunciates slowly, pointing to the spider that’s innocently spinning in circles on its web. Peter chews the inside of his cheek until he’s unable to keep from grinning dopily. Without warning, he lifts a hand and lets the spider settle on his palm, like they’re fucking BFFs. “This feels like betrayal. You’re not supposed to become friends with it.”

“Are you discriminating against my kind?” He gasps, sliding off the bed himself to kneel next to her. 

“Shut up, Spider-Dork. Get it out of here,” she huffs, looking away so that the pair of spiders will stop staring at her.

“Aw, but it’s raining, Em. You don’t want this little dude to drown, do you?” Michelle merely gives him a deadpan look, and his grin only increases. “Okay, fine, I’ll release him but only if you pick out a name.”

“Are you serious? Fine. Say goodbye to B.O.M.E.”

“B.O.M.E.?”

“It’s an acronym for ‘bane of my existence’,” Michelle clarifies, feeling satisfied when Peter evidently gives up. “Window, Parker.”

“Bye, B.O.M.E.,” Peter says with a pout as he opens the window, getting water droplets all of the sill as the spider takes its time crawling out. When he turns back to Michelle, she already feels so much better. “So, what I’ve learned this morning is that you hate spiders even though you’ve got a thing for them.”

“Hey, I don’t have a thing for spiders. I have a thing for _Spider-Man_, there’s a difference. I don’t see you with eight eyes or legs or trying to attack me in my sleep, so I like you much better,” she defends, causing Peter to nearly melt into a puddle right there. He pulls Michelle close and smiles into the kiss that’s pressed against her lips.

“You’re my fav.”

~~~

“Why do you think it’s normal to be sitting on the ceiling?” Michelle asks, raising an eyebrow at Peter, who’s currently lounging above her. He smiles sheepishly and shrugs.

“Why do you not think it’s normal?”

“By definition of normality, it’s weird. But then again, it’s not weird for you, because you always seem to like it up there. I can see footprints from your dirty shoes, for god’s sake. I just don’t understand what’s so great about it. Doesn’t all of the blood rush to your head?”

“Ah, well, no. It’s actually quite comfortable for me, but I doubt it would be for you.”

“Loser,” she hums and lifts one of her arms into the air. “Come down here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter grins and takes Michelle’s hand, releasing his adhesiveness and lands right next to her on the couch. Judging by his mischievous eyebrow wiggle, she can tell he’s about to do something—hopefully not tickle her, seeing as he just recently found out that she’s extremely ticklish in certain places—but then loud, abrupt knocking startles them both. It’s not pounding, which is how it usually is with the zombies. No, it sounds more desperate, more human.

“I...someone’s at the door,” Michelle lamely points out and moves to stand up. The knocking hasn’t ceased—it’s only started getting faster if she’s being honest. “And zombies aren’t polite enough to knock.” She cautiously heads towards the door and looks through the peephole first. Michelle’s breath catches and then an enormous amount of relief hits her. 

“Hey, wait, MJ—” Peter starts to say just as she swings the door open. Standing there, dripping wet from head to toe, are Ned and Betty. They’re holding a bloody shovel that looks to have been used more than a few times. Everyone takes a moment to collect themselves—to realize that maybe they hadn’t lost as much as they thought.

“The real party can start now,” Ned says, his voice a little weak, but that doesn’t stop Peter from lunging forward and engulfing his best friend in a tight hug. There are a few tears, Michelle can see that much. She turns to Betty and ushers the shaking, soaked girl inside.

“I’ll get you a towel to dry off,” she says and then goes upstairs to pull two from the linen closet. When she returns, Ned and Betty are sitting at the dining table. Peter’s standing by, his arms crossed, asking about what happened and if they’re okay. “Here you go…”

Betty, who’s currently shivering, wraps one of the towels around her shoulders and gives Michelle a grateful smile. “Thanks, MJ. And, yeah, Peter. We’re okay for the most part.”

“Speak for yourself, babe, it feels like my heart’s gonna fly out of my chest any second,” Ned says, drying his face. “There was an infestation of zombies back in our old base—I swear, someone must’ve let them in, because that was supposed to be the most secure place—”

“No one let them in,” Betty corrects, rolling her eyes. “He just wants someone to blame for what happened. The lock was old and rusty, so it didn’t take long for the gate to fall over.”

“Is everyone else okay?” Peter asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m not sure. We all got split up—honestly, it was every man for themselves at that point. Betty and I ran onto the streets, which wasn’t a smart idea at all. It was like a parade, which would’ve been really cool if the zombies weren’t out to eat our brains.”

“How did you know that we’d be here?”

“Uh, we didn’t,” Betty admits. “We just hoped like hell that you were alive and occupying this apartment so we could get some help.”

“Yeah, because otherwise, we would’ve been toast. There aren’t that many places that still have supplies and—well, no one in their right mind would want to break into this place. It’s a mess. No offense,” Ned adds, giving Peter the side-eye.

“Hey, it’s not _that_ messy!” Peter protests, glancing at Michelle for help, but she keeps her mouth shut. It really is that messy. 

“Isn’t May the one who usually kept your room clean, dude? I mean, aside from under the bed, ‘cause that’s where you literally shoved all your crap,” he continues. “Where is May, anyway? If she was here, I doubt it’d look so…” Ned then trails off, his eyes widening slightly in realization. “Oh.”

“May...didn’t make it, Ned.” Peter rubs his jaw, keeping his eyes downcast so that the sadness in them is barely visible. “A lot of people didn’t make it.”

“So it’s just been you and MJ this whole time?” Betty pipes up, her gaze curious, like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle. Michelle doesn’t miss the scrutinizing expression of Ned, either. 

“For the most part, yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad that both of my best friends are alive. I’m even gladder that you two had each other during this stinking apocalypse, because honestly, I doubt you guys would be able to stand anyone else. MJ, you probably would’ve already thrown them out to the zombies,” Ned says, grinning proudly like he knows one of their hidden secrets.

“I’ll throw _you_ out to the zombies if you think that ‘gladder’ is an actual word, Leeds,” Michelle nonchalantly replies, smirking.

“_Anyway_, you guys are welcome to stay with us for the rest of the way,” Peter begins but then glances at Michelle for reassurance. She responds with a nearly imperceptible nod but there’s a smile on her lips. There’s no way she’d kick her friends back out onto the streets—she doubts they’d even survive a week out there, anyway. “We might run out of food pretty fast, though…”

“Okay, that’s great of you guys and all, but I don’t think staying in New York is the best idea, anymore,” Betty expresses, her face a perfect representation of uncertainty and uneasiness. “We’ve already experienced too many close calls in this city. I don’t know if I can handle risking another one.”

“There’s not much we can do, babe,” Ned frowns, though he looks like he shares her opinion on New York. “We’re all probably going to die here.”

“Actually...I might be able to get us out of here,” Peter murmurs thoughtfully. “It could take a couple of days, but how would you guys feel about taking a trip to Europe, courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

~~~

“I know it may have seemed like none of us knew, but trust me, Peter. We all did. Well, except for Flash, but he was a bit oblivious,” Betty tells him as she sits criss-cross on the couch. Ned’s next to her with an arm slung around her shoulders, chuckling at Peter’s shocked expression.

“What—I thought I was good at keeping secrets,” Peter groans, absolutely bewildered at how everyone on their decathlon team knew he was Spider-Man. Ned, Betty, and Michelle all shake their heads.

“Even if we hadn’t figured it out by senior year, Ned ended up telling me, anyway.”

“Ned!”

“I’m sorry! I just—how could I not tell my girlfriend that I was Spider-Man’s Guy in the Chair?” Ned reasons. “Besides, like, it doesn’t even matter now.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter grumbles as he collapses back in the seat next to Michelle, who nudges him with her elbow, lips quirked in amusement. He grins and bumps his shoulder into hers in response.

“You guys are cute together. I’m glad you two finally sorted all your shit out,” Betty remarks, gaze flickering between Peter and Michelle, who both stare at her with identical blushes and expressions that scream ‘_caught red-handed_’.

“What? Is it that obvious?” Peter asks, smiling down at his lap. 

“Uh, yeah, dude. Horrible at keeping secrets, remember?” Ned reminds him with a laugh. 

“Well, I...I see what you mean,” he nods, chuckling softly while leaning his head against the back of the couch. “Wanna hear an epic story, bro? There was this one guy who wanted to kill me, and he could shoot lightning out of his hands.”

“What? No way! That’s awesome! Obviously, I’m glad you didn’t die, but still awesome. Tell me more.” 

Michelle glances at Betty, and they both exchange an eye roll at how only their boys would get excited about a murderous electric powerhouse that tried to kill Spider-Man. 

The two of them continue to talk, filling each other in about everything the other has missed during this separation period, and Michelle gets tired of listening, so she lies down and rests her head on Peter’s lap. His fingers gently brush hair out of her face, and then he starts to massage her scalp, which feels really nice. 

She notices that Betty’s already asleep, snoring softly against Ned’s shoulder, so Michelle thinks it wouldn’t hurt to doze off. It feels a bit like an old record playing—a bit like the movie nights way back then where sounds of Ned and Peter chatting in the background always nudged her towards sleep. 

Déja vu, nostalgia, and familiarity all wrapped into one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only a couple chapters more left :o


	10. and now you’re by my side

Day pass after Peter went to contact Nick Fury once more, which unsurprisingly irritated the man, but Michelle doubts he’s ever in a good mood to begin with. After learning that they want to leave New York after all, Fury stated that it had to be according to his schedule, which meant waiting a few days.

Well, those few days have passed, and it’s the morning that they finally get to leave the shithole that New York has turned into. Michelle has a bag ready full of necessities and a couple things she can’t live without, like some books, her sketchbook, and the stupid telekinesis shirt that she’s gotten attached to. Peter did the same thing, packing up some photo frames, a pair of May’s glasses, and the very same kitchen knife that Michelle has used as her choice weapon.

Ned and Betty don’t have anything to pack, but they’re more than happy to leave with just themselves. 

“Okay, I think we’ve got everything we need,” Peter begins to say as he starts counting off his fingers. “Fury knows which building we’re going to be on top of. He’ll be coming down in a jet, so it shouldn’t be too hard to spot.”

“Dang, okay. Sounds like first class to me,” Ned says with a smile. “But, uh, Peter, how are we getting there?”

“Uh, well, I’m going to have to bring each of you over separately,” he answers, wincing slightly. “It’s not ideal, I know, but I can only carry one person at a time. It should be okay, though. No zombies will be able to get on the roof, I webbed the door shut.”

“Um, I trust you, Peter. So, whatever you say,” Betty nods, her smile an attempt at being reassuring.

“Thanks, Betty...do you want to go first?”

“Why not?” She speaks through gritted teeth, so Peter hoists her into his arms. The spider mask forms over his face, and then he jumps out of the window. Michelle can hear Betty’s scream from inside the apartment and bites her tongue to keep from laughing.

“Man, I’ve never gotten a personal Spidey ride from Peter before,” Ned pouts. “How awesome is it? Does it feel as cool as it looks? I’m not going to die, am I?”

“Well, you’ll just have to wait and see, Leeds,” Michelle replies, raising an eyebrow. Ned starts chomping on his nails, but she’s not sure if it’s out of anxiety or excitement. Eventually, Peter returns through the window, the glowing eyes of the suit falling on Ned.

“Your turn, man. You might want to grab one of those duffels, too.”

“Okay.” Ned swings one of them over his shoulder before walking over to Peter. “So...how are we doing this without making it awkward?”

“Trust me...it’ll be awkward either way. I think it’ll be best if we use the piggyback method. Just try not to choke me, ‘cause that could end very badly. Also...don’t let go.”

“Oh, god.” Ned jumps onto Peter’s back, and Michelle can’t help the huge grin that appears on her face. “Not a word, MJ.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she retorts as they swing right out of the apartment. It only gives her a minute or two alone, though, because Peter’s not slow in the slightest. He somersaults back in through the window, his mask retracting in the process. The grin on his face makes her think that maybe—just maybe—he’s trying to show off.

“Milady,” he drawls, outstretching a hand for Michelle, who doesn’t suppress her eye-roll. No, she’s not inwardly swooning at all. _Not_. _One_. _Bit_.

“I hope you know you’re still a dork,” she huffs, grabbing the last duffel bag before taking his hand. Peter’s smile turns soft as he picks her up with ease, and Michelle can feel her heart beating in her ears. He could probably see it in her eyes as well. 

“It’s even better when you remind me,” Peter murmurs, their noses brushing as he readjusts his grip to hold her tighter. Michelle swallows the feelings in her throat and rests her chin against his shoulder. “Remember the drill?”

“Through and through. Better hurry it up before I chicken out and make us take the stairs.” Peter laughs before taking a running start, and the next thing she feels is the rush of wind blowing through her hair. 

It’s rare for Michelle to keep her eyes open, but this time, she does. Mainly because she isn’t sure when or if she’ll ever see New York like this again. The city was her home, it always has been, but ever since the start of the apocalypse, she knows that she’s been moving on. You know it means something when your home begins to feel less like a place and more like a person.

When they finally reach solid ground, Michelle glances over her shoulder and sees that Betty and Ned are sitting by the rooftop’s edge, chatting quietly. She smiles at the fact that they’re occupied, because it gives her a chance to kiss Peter without having to hear clapping in the background, which seems to have been a staple the past few days.

So, that’s exactly what she does. He hasn’t let her go yet, and Michelle takes advantage of it, cupping his cheek and kissing him. Peter squeaks in surprise before absolutely melting into it, smiling all the way. It’s fulfilling and wholesome and reminds her each and every time that she’s very much in love.

Of course, the clapping starts soon thereafter. Their lips part with a pop, and Michelle flips off the culprits while moving to stand on her own two feet, thinking that the kiss didn’t last nearly long enough.

“Don’t you guys have more important things to do than applaud every time?” Peter grumbles, giving them both the side-eye. Ned merely shrugs and looks at Betty.

“Not really. I mean, we’re on a roof. There’s literally nothing to do.”

“Lame. Figure something out,” Michelle says and gets down to lie on her back. Contrary to many of the previous days, the clouds are white and fluffy for once. Peter sits cross-legged next to her, and they both stare up. She’s sure he’s going to get a crick in his neck, but he doesn’t stop.

“That one looks like the Hulk,” Peter points out.

“I think not. It’s obviously cotton candy.”

“Wow.”

“I know, my imagination is wild.”

They continue to stare, and Michelle is sure that she’ll go blind by staring at the white clouds for so long. Still, she keeps doing it, at least until she hears the sound of snapping. Her eyes dart around cautiously, though Michelle’s not sure what it’s coming from. She can’t be the only one hearing it.

“Oh, my god.”

“What?”

“Oh, crap! Peter!”

Michelle whirls around to hear that final _snap_ before the roof floods with the undead, jaws snapping and arms outstretched. She realizes then that the sound she heard was the webbing ripping, unable to hold the weight that the door was trying to support.

She’s never seen so many zombies at one time, save for when the outbreak first happened and the streets were impossible to travel on. Michelle isn’t sure what to do amidst the chaos, trying to dodge zombies and webs flying. She hears voices but can’t decipher what they’re actually saying. All she can truly comprehend at the moment is that there are about six or seven zombies starting to encircle her.

“MJ! Em—” Peter calls out in desperate frustration, and she can see that he’s trying his best to keep the zombies away from Ned and Betty, who both look terrified beyond belief. Their eyes look with hers, and she can’t help but wonder what they’re thinking—whether they’re all going to die or not.

“This isn’t ideal,” she grits out, pulling the closest zombie towards her by the arms before using momentum to swing it over the edge of the building.

“Peter, go to MJ!” Ned tells him over all the chaos, but it’s not that easy.

“I can’t be everywhere at once,” he cries, bringing out the mechanical spider legs to impale a few zombies.

“It’s okay,” Michelle says, shaking her head. There are tears frozen in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. A zombie lunges for her, but she dodges it the best she can. It’s hard—they’re backing her up to the ledge. 

“Shit! Stop—stop, MJ, _please_, you’re going to fall!” Peter calls out, tears dripping freely down his cheeks. “Please stop moving!”

“Peter, help your girlfriend! We’ll be fine,” Betty urges, pushing him away from them. 

“No—there are too many of them,” Michelle exhales, squaring her shoulders. “I swear to god, Peter, stay where you are. Hell, get those two the fuck out of here already.” She takes a glance behind her, over the edge where zombies have already fallen. “It’s okay.”

If Michelle is going to die, it’s not going to be because of some virus. She wants to keep her mind intact—wants to remember her life as something worth living and not feel the crippling need to tear into her best friends as her sanity fades. No, if she dies, it’s going to be of her own free will.

Those zombies aren’t going to land a damn hand on Michelle, even if it kills her.

“MJ, please don’t! _Please_,” he begs, his voice shaking harder than her body is right now. It cracks through her heart, making it bleed out, vulnerable and bare. She didn’t expect to have to say goodbye, not this soon.

“It’s okay,” she repeats quietly, like a broken record. “You’re going to be okay, Parker.” The back of her heel teeters over the ledge, and Michelle nearly loses her balance. It’s that moment when she realizes Peter’s about to abandon Ned and Betty for her. 

“Em, stop—please, just hold on—”

“I can’t.” Between them and her, Peter needs to choose them. In fact, this isn’t even his choice. “I’m sorry.” _I’m sorry that you have to lose someone else after you’ve already lost so much. I’m sorry that we didn’t get nearly enough time. I’m sorry that this is how we say goodbye_. “Keep being a dork, Peter.”

Michelle knows that saying the final three words that everyone says just as they’re about to die will only add insult to injury, so she keeps them to herself. Maybe in another lifetime, they could’ve had more. 

Just as the zombies go in for the kill, she lets herself fall backwards. They get nothing but empty air—the empty air she’s tumbling through until an impact hits and it _hurts_. The last sounds she hears are Betty’s screams, Ned’s shouts, and Peter’s painful sobs before everything fades to black in milliseconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I—
> 
> one more chapter left


	11. do you think that maybe we’d just survive?

There’s a burning in her skull and an ache in her bones. Unlike many stories she’s heard and read in the past, the ones where the main character spends ages wondering if this is what death feels like, Michelle knows for a fact that she’s not dead. She knows that death shouldn’t hurt like it does right now. There’s no fire, there’s no light—only darkness.

Her mind feels heavy—drugged, even. There’s a steady beeping that she wishes would just disappear, but she knows that it’s a reassurance for those on the other end of this—the ones making sure she lives. Flatlines are something that should only be heard in nightmares. Michelle would know, she’s listened to one too many of them.

It feels nearly impossible to lift her eyelids, but she wants to make sure that she’s not in a full-body cast. Falling from a height like that would’ve broken every bone in her body, which could very well be why she can’t move, but that seems unlikely. Michelle can tell that there are a few tubes running across her arm, and there’s an oxygen mask covering her face.

Fighting the tiredness feels more like a losing battle, though. Michelle feels like giving up rather quickly and decides to listen instead. There are voices fading in and out in the background.

“He’s still sleeping. It’s been days, and he hasn’t even...Ned, this isn’t healthy. I know that MJ’s...but he still needs to take care of himself.”

“Yeah, but...well, he won’t leave her. Not when there’s still a possibility...it’s Peter. He won’t leave her.”

The whispering continues but it starts to get farther away. Michelle feels annoyed—they didn’t give her any information that remotely hinted at what she’s dealing with here. 

It’s quiet for quite a bit after that—the only sound she can hear is someone breathing. Michelle can only assume that it’s Peter, considering that’s what Ned said. She wonders how long it’s really been and if her not being able to wake up is prolonging the torture. It’s hurting him just as much as it hurts her—maybe even more. 

Michelle thinks that if she can just get one part of her body to do something, maybe it’ll trigger everything else. She needs to move. It’s frustrating not being able to. With the little amount of energy she has, Michelle directs it all towards opening her eyes. It’s really hard—it feels like there’s a fucking weight on each of them.

But, eventually, she manages to get one open and then the other, immediately wincing at the bright hospital lights. Her eyes are clearly sensitive, it’s not fun. Michelle glances around the room and finds that Peter’s in a chair right next to her bed. He’s asleep with his head resting on his arm, which is right next to her shoulder while the other is keeping a tight hold on her hand—more specifically, her pulse.

“Hey, loser,” she speaks softly, her voice hoarse and throat dry. He doesn’t stir, so Michelle uses her hand that’s got an IV attached to it to remove her oxygen mask. “Parker.”

Peter’s head whips up at that and he looks around, seemingly disoriented, but then his eyes land on her. They’re sunken in and red-rimmed, which makes Michelle’s heart clench. 

“M—MJ? Are you—I’m not hallucinating, am I?” He whispers, eyebrows pinched in pain. “Please tell me this is real.”

“The fact that you seem sleep-deprived enough to assume it could be a hallucination sucks, Peter. It’s real. I’m not sure which of us looks more like shit at the moment,” Michelle replies, narrowing her eyes. Peter swallows thickly and looks down at the hand he’s still squeezing.

“You were in a coma for eight days, Michelle. You hit your head pretty hard against the building—had a hairline skull fracture and brain swelling...they had to shave part of your hair.” Michelle’s hand subconsciously travels to where the bandages are wrapped around her head. “And you had a concussion. I just…” Peter squeezes his eyes closed, and she can see a few tears escaping. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? I was the one who…it was my decision. I honestly don’t understand how I’m alive right now.”

“You...you don’t remember?”

“No…? Should I?” Michelle pauses and then gives Peter a deadpan look. “Don’t tell me that this whole zombie apocalypse thing has been a side-effect of my coma and I imagined it all in my head, because that would be really fucking—”

“What? No, no,” Peter interrupts, shaking his head. “That happened. We’re in Europe at the moment in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s facilities. I just...thought you’d remember. One of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s big drone things, uh, managed to catch you before you hit the ground. You were unconscious by the time the rest of us made it there…”

“Oh.”

“We all thought you died, Michelle,” he chokes out, covering half of his face with his free hand. “If that drone hadn’t been there…I almost lost you. I almost…”

“Look at me. I’m alive, Peter,” she murmurs, giving him a small, tilted smile. “And, hey, if I can’t die by falling off a building, I simply cannot die.”

Peter nods, almost desperately, and cups her hand between both of his, pulling it up to his lips. “I’m sorry, ‘m sorry. I should’ve—should’ve done something else, something more. It was my fault, the stupid webbing broke and—”

“Don’t even go there or I’ll break up with you, Parker. Nothing was your fault.   
Okay? Nothing. And, listen, when I made that decision to jump, it was only because I didn’t think there were any other options. You were over with Ned and Betty, who would’ve died if you’d gone to me. I didn’t want you to have to make that choice.”

“How courteous of you,” Peter remarks with a roll of his eyes but there’s an almost imperceptible smile on his face.

“Shut up, dork. You love me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he responds softly, kissing her hand once more. “I love you, Michelle. So much.”

“Well,” Michelle muses softly. “Don’t think that this makes you cool or anything, but I also love you. So much. And, hey, you know what you should do for the girl who loves you? Get her a glass of water. Her throat feels like sandpaper.”

“On it.” He leans over and kisses her forehead lightly, but somehow, even his slightest touch reduces the ache she’s been feeling in her head. It must be the power of Peter Parker.

Once he leaves, that’s when Ned and Betty rush into the room, eyes wide.

“Oh, my god, MJ—”

“You have no idea how relieved we are that you’re okay. Honestly, we were all freaking the hell out. Do you know how rare it is to come out of a coma and still retain all of your mentality? You’re so lucky—and, dang, what were you thinking when you jumped off that building?” Ned rambles, and Michelle merely blinks in response. 

“Babe, chill. The important thing is that she’s okay,” Betty says calmly. “And clearly, she’s rocking that new hairstyle. It looks really nice, MJ.”

“Mhmm,” she hums dryly—her head is mummified in gauze, but sure—just as Peter returns with a glass of water.

“She’s right, it does look really nice,” he offers while handing her the glass. Michelle rolls her eyes before smiling slightly.

“Thanks, dork.” She sips down the cool liquid, which instantly makes her throat feel a lot better.

“Okay, well—we’ll let the doctors know that you’re awake. And, Peter...maybe get some rest? You look like a drug addict or something right about now,” Ned advises, giving his best friend a thumb’s up.

“Appreciate that, Ned,” Peter replies, returning the thumb’s up in a sarcastic manner. Still, Ned grins in response before ushering himself and Betty out of the room. Michelle can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when the door closes behind them.

“I love those two, but my headache brain can’t take them right now,” she admits, sinking lower into her pillow.

“Neither can my sleep-deprived one, apparently.”

“You should still listen to Ned and get some rest. I really can’t have you passing out on me,” Michelle tells him with a half-smile but then pauses. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you were to get in here and do just that.”

“Isn’t that against the policy or something?”

“I think they can cut us a little slack, considering I did just fall off a building and you’ve barely been sleeping. What do you say, Parker?” She wiggles her eyebrows for emphasis, and Peter can’t help but smile in return. He slips in the bed next to Michelle and wraps an arm around her middle, snuggling into her side.

“Missed you,” he mumbles sleepily, kissing her shoulder. “And ‘m so happy you’re going to be okay.”

“We’re _both_ going to be okay, Peter,” Michelle murmurs, her eyelids fluttering shut. “I think we’re finally learning how to survive the end of the world.”

_end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely some medical inaccuracies—
> 
> But that’s all folks. Thank you for all of your feedback on this story <3 if I get any inspiration, I may write another one


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